


Somewhere a Clock is Ticking

by seven league boots (memphis)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adam (Voltron) Lives, Alternate Reality, Angst, Back to the Future Refs, Blood and Injury, Domestic Fluff, Don't Drink The Tequila, Drinking, Fluff, Humor, Kid Fic, M/M, Marriage, Multi, Post Season 7 fic, Stuffed Hippos, Surrogacy, Time Travel, hangovers, lovechild au, season 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 08:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15747681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memphis/pseuds/seven%20league%20boots
Summary: This is a story about time travel, lost memories, growing up broken, ukulele lessons, peanut butter banana sandwiches, and a stuffed hippo named Patches.This is also the story of how James Griffin saved the world, but couldn't stop his parents from falling in love.





	Somewhere a Clock is Ticking

**Author's Note:**

> This came from a weird idea I had when looking at early images of James and noticing his eyes were purple. As S7 progressed, I just got this thought that he looked so much like a Klance lovechild sent back in time like Chibiusa from Sailor Moon to annoy his future parents, [I wrote a messy outline of the idea.](https://emphasis-all-mine.tumblr.com/post/176862148165/oh-anon-you-done-permitted-me-to-unleash-my)
> 
> Then I started taking myself seriously, and this happened.
> 
> Many thanks to [Nonbinary_Queen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonbinary_Queen) ([@bondingrazzledazzletime](https://bondingrazzledazzletime.tumblr.com) on tumblr) for all the Spanish checks, translations, and direct input for dialogue and suggestions to help make this what it is. See the endnotes for their translations!
> 
> As always my beta gets all my love and chameleons and embroidered Pidge-quote pillows. Title is from the song by Snow Patrol.
> 
>  
> 
> In case you are confused by the pronouns James uses to differentiate his parents:
> 
> Father/Pop/Papa/Pops = Keith  
> Dad/Daddy = Lance

 

 

First thing you learn about James, is that there is only one person in the universe allowed to call him 'Jim', or any variation up to and including, 'Jimmy', 'Jimbo', 'Jimbits', etc.

And that person is his father, much to the chagrin of his dad.

"Seriously? Only he's allowed to call you Jim?"

James nods, holding Patches closer and making a face.

"Jim, c'mon," his father gives him a nudge from where he sits on his lap. "You know your dad picked that name for you."

His dad nods enthusiastically. "You know he was gonna name you _Yoralivan_ , if I hadn't stepped in?"

"Technically, that was your grandmom's idea–"

"No!" James says with all the stubborn conviction a four-year old child can muster and crosses his arms, Patches getting the life squeezed out of them. The stuffed hippo is going to need another set of stitches again if he's not careful. "Only Papa can call me Jim."

"Why?" his dad asks.

"Because you jus' wanna make Star Wars jokes about me!"

He feels his father hitch a breath, trying to hold in a laugh while his dad pinches the bridge of his nose. "James Tiberius, first of all it's _Star Trek,_ and second of all I'm not making jokes about you, I'm teaching you lessons about one of the most important science-fiction stories of all time and–"

"No!" James says again, throwing Patches at him.

"Hey," his father turns him around, "that's _not_ how to solve a problem. Go pick Patches up, and tell Dad you're sorry." 

James huffs but he can see in those stern, indigo eyes that he's not in the right. He climbs out of his father's lap, picks his worn stuffed hippo off the floor where they landed and looks up at his dad.

He gently tugs at his pant leg, getting him to lean down close. "I'm sorry Daddy," he says and hugs his neck.

He gets a hug in return and is lifted up into his arms.

"S'okay, I'll just come up with something else that only I get to call you, okay?" James laughs as he gets lots of cheek kisses and returns them happily to his smiling dad. Even Patches gets a kiss and James laughs even more.

 

*

 

"Hello James," the lady says warmly handing him a cup of water. "Is that what you prefer, or should I call you Jim?"

James shakes his head fervently.

"Okay," she smiles. "Who's your friend?"

"Patches," he says, holding them close, even though they still smell of fire and ash.

She nods, taking in the different swatches of fabric that they've been fixed with over the years. The most notable is a large olive-green patch that runs down their right side, and one of the bottom teeth is clearly a replacement, misshapen and off-white.

"Because of all the different patches, right?"

James nods. "Dog chews them sometimes."

"Is it a big dog or a small dog?"

"Big dog."

"How big?" James looks up at her as she holds her hand over the floor of her sunny, yellow-walled office, "Bigger than this?" she asks.

"Bigger."

She raises her arm. "Here?"

"Bigger."

Her eyebrows rise but she brings her hand higher and higher. "Bigger?"

"Bigger."

"On all fours?"

James nods, sipping his water. "Patches got hurt and Dad made it better. Pops told me I shouldn't be mad but I was. He didn't mean it though, s'just he has big teeth. He loves me and protects me."

The lady nods, scribbling things down on a piece of paper. "Two fathers... and who does ‘he’ mean? Your father?"

"No, the dog. He always protects me."

 

*

 

James is standing behind the big blue dog as he growls at the intruder and he's crying and his parents–

Where are they?

Why can't he see their faces?

There's a shot, and his ears are ringing, he's screaming now and they're pulling away, disappearing in a cloud of smoke and ether. He's somewhere else that's yellow and safe and his stomach is dropping like when he flies with his parents. The world is falling away behind him.

"I'm sorry kiddo! I know that gun was loud, can you hear me?" but the ringing in his ears won't stop and he _cries_.

He hears more voices but they sound far away, all the faces have faded into shadows and ashes and–

 

*

 

Post-traumatic stress. Partial memory loss. Brain damage.

That's the first thing that goes in the file of James T. [lastname unknown]

 

*

 

"How many fingers?"

"Three."

"Where are you?" 

"I… don't know."

"How old are you?"

"Ten."

"Where are your parents?"

James doesn't know.

"Can you tell me their names?" 

James can't remember. 

"Tell me your name."

"James Tiberius K–"

Something locks up in his mind, seizes his tongue and won't let go. He hugs Patches and sniffles into their worn fur.

"James Tiberius, is that your full name?"

"N-no."

"What's your last name?"

"I don't know."

One of the firefighters shrugs. "Parents are Star Trek fans?"

James nods. "My Dad."

"Where's your dad now?"

James cries, falling to his knees.

 

*

 

He goes from the shadowy night of fire and ash to the sunshine yellow-walls, and then ends up in the grey house with all the other lost, broken, or damaged kids.

James is sitting on his bed, Patches is next to him along with his shoes and the bag of spare clothing they gave him. It feels good to be in clothes that don't smell like smoke or burning things anymore.

There's a scuffle and then stomping feet as the door to the room bangs open and a kid about his age walks in. One of the adults is still yelling at him to go lay down and think about what he's done.

The kid shouts back and throws himself on the bed next to James. He's got messy black hair, eyes that are puffy from crying, and fists that are smeared in brown and green and red. Dirt, grass, and blood. James tries to stop staring but he can't help it.

"What?!" the kid snaps at him.

James immediately looks away. "Nothing! Jeez."

The kid huffs and turns around in his bed. James rolls his eyes.

"Nice to meet you, I'm new here, clearly I know everyone and everything about them and y'know this isn't goddamn fucking terrifying to me too," James huffs.

There's a few moments of silence before the kid says, "Watch your fucking language."

James snorts. "Yes, _father_."

The kid looks up at him, fire in his indigo eyes. "It's _Keith_."

He nods. "James."

Keith scans him up and down before turning back around with a huff. Guess he's not the talkative type. James leans back on his pillows, wishing he had grabbed something from the library the lady in the yellow room had.

"... I like your hippo…" a small voice says.

James ignores him and hides Patches under a blanket. This kid has _literal_ blood on his hands. He's not allowed to see the only thing in this world he still has from his family.

"Don't touch my stuff!" James snaps.

"I didn't! Ugh–" Keith grumbles more to himself under his breath.

James decides he doesn't like Keith very much. He's weird and angry and he avoids him as much as possible.

 

*

 

James is on the floor with the dog curled around him snoring gently, letting him lie against his body like a fluffy blue pillow.

"Did you two make up?" his father asks. James nods.

"I guess," James sighs. "Damn dog."

"Language!" his dad shouts from the other room.

"Damn _wolf_."

"James Tiberius! Ay que tonto mijo, no asumas que no te escuché, no seas un sabelotodo conmigo. ¡Yo inventé eso!"

James squints his eyes shut, but he catches the smile on his father's face. "Sorry, Dad!" he calls back towards the office where he's working.

His father sits next to James, and the large dog readjusts to accommodate the both of them. The dog's head ends up on his father's shoulder, licking the red scar that curves down his cheek.

"You know he can't hand you things the way your dad and I can, so he uses his mouth and his teeth. And I think Patches is a little bigger than he realized, and got stuck in his mouth. The only way he could let go was to bite down. He made a judgment error, don't be mad at him for that, Jimmy-bean."

"Mmmrgh," James crosses his arms and continues to sulk. "Yes, Pop-corn."

"Jimbo."

"Popsicola."

"Jim-jam."

"Pappy."

"Jimbalaya."

"Father dearest."

"Oof," he grabs his chest, "don't give me creepy twilight zone kid, you know I can't handle that," he smiles and looks up as James's dad enters the room with his hands behind his back. "How's the patient?"

His dad holds Patches up with a smile. They've got the biggest patch now, olive green fabric that looks worn and soft, but giving away the lines of the bite mark the dog made. "Prognosis is good, they've taken to the skin grafts. Had to rebuild a tooth but I think there's still plenty of hugs and kisses left in them."

James leaps up and grabs Patches, hugging them close and shedding tears of relief as his parents talk in the background.

"Is that from your old jacket?"

"Yeah well, I outgrew that how long ago?"

"Mmm, whatcha gonna do with the rest of it?"

"Maybe get some stuffing, make a pillow," he opens his eyes to see his dad curling a finger under his father's chin, "y'know they call me the _Tailor_ … Like, as a nickname."

His father groans. "Oh my god."

"My name isn't actually Taylor, but somebody once thought it was and–"

His father kisses his dad. James coughs.

"Never gonna let me live that one down, are you?" his father murmurs between his lips.

James coughs again. Louder.

"James, I'm gonna have to kiss your father until he forgets my name again, go outside and play."

James rolls his eyes and whistles to his dog to take them both away.

 

*

 

The Griffins are a sweet elderly couple that own the home. They visit every week and explain how they were both children of adoption, and couldn't have kids of their own so they decided to make a safe space for kids who needed to find stable homes. Mrs. Griffin reads to the younger kids and Mr. Griffin teaches the older kids piano scales.

The weekly visits become bi-weekly visits. James impresses Mr. Griffin when he shows him he can copy any note he plays on a piano with the plastic ukulele he found in the toy bin. They even invite him to have a high tea in the garden together and he brings the instrument along.

"My Dad played guitar, it's kind of weird to scale it down, but the notes are there," James explains plucking the string and twisting the knobs. "You just have to be patient, focus and, yep," he strums. "That's a G-chord."

Mr. Griffin smiles, nodding to his wife. Mrs. Griffin smiles behind her teacup and clears her throat.

"James, Mr. Griffin and I want to ask you something..."

 

*

 

No one is in the room the day James packs up all his stuff to move out.

But neither is Patches, he soon realizes.

He has a mild panic attack, tearing up all the beds in the room and looking under all of the mattresses. He doesn't know why but he almost starts whistling, as if that would call an old, worn stuffed hippo to him. He ends up on his empty bed frame, springs digging into his knees, shaking and crying.

The door bangs open and he shudders again but doesn't lift his head from the crook of his arms.

"One of the older kids took them," he hears Keith say.

James looks up and sees Keith with a black eye, a big red cut on his right cheek, torn clothes, and blood spatter on his jeans.

Patches has been placed atop his luggage. Not even a speck of road dust staining them. James grabs Patches and hugs them close. "Thank you, Keith," he whispers.

Keith makes a pained, grumbly sound but acknowledges him with a nod.

The older kids… "The one with the box cutter?"

"Yup," Keith says, taking a seat on his bed, and pulling out his secret first aid kit from under his bunk. He's still making a fist with his left hand.

"What's with your hand?" James asks.

Keith opens up and there's a small white thing in his palm. A tooth. "Gross!" James says, then catches Keith's eye. "You hit him that hard?"

"Guess so. Think if I put it under my pillow, I'll get a dollar?"

James smirks. "That your plan to save up and get outta here?"

"We can't all be as lucky as you," Keith sighs. "Bye forever."

James snarls. "It's certainly been a pleasure. Let's see each other _never_."

Keith ducks his head, maybe muffling a laugh, wrapping his bruised right hand in gauze. "Don't you have a wonderful new life to run off to or something?"

"Yeah, yeah," James says picking up his luggage and looking around the room. "You can uh, blame the mess on me."

"Oh yeah, and they're gonna believe _me_ over the owner's brand new son."

 

*

 

The next day Keith wakes up to being told he's no longer punished for the state of the room, and there's something under his pillow. A small 'thanks' is written on a slip of paper wrapped around a ten dollar bill.

Keith still doesn't like James. But he decides he doesn't hate him either.

 

*

 

"Griffin, James?"

"Present," James says smiling up at the teacher.

"Kogane, Keith?"

No answer.

"Keith!" the teacher says a bit louder.

Keith sighs and turns away from staring out the window. "You obviously can see me sitting here, I don't understand the point of this," he narrows his eyes at her. "Do you need glasses?"

James bites his lip and mouths along with the teacher as she gives Keith Kogane his third detention this month.

He still doesn't particularly _like_ Keith, but at least he's predictably entertaining.

Like how he always gets into fights.

How he eats lunch alone, and no one talks to him at recess.

He's weird about stuff and somehow knows when it's about to rain.

His initials are carved into all the trees around the school and some of the bricks of the buildings.

And especially off-putting is that he sometimes smells like burnt toast, and it reminds James too much of the worst night of his life.

 

*

 

"Your fingers have sticky parts," James tells his dad, pressing his smaller hands into larger ones, sizing them up. A gold ring gleams on his dad's finger, he likes to fidget with it.

He looks down at James sitting in his lap, "Ah, my callouses."

"What're they from?"

"Piloting. Playing guitar. Winning thumb wars with your father. Burning my hands trying to cook as good as your Uncle or Grandma."

James laughs. "Silly Daddy."

He kisses the top of his head. "Think you can get some rest now? Are your ears still ringing?"

"I'm fine," James says.

His dad tucks him into bed, and walks out of the room slowly, keeping his eye on him the whole way, and leaving the door open just a crack.

They haven't let him keep the door shut since that night when the strange person in the robes appeared at the foot of his bed, and his Uncle came charging in to save him, shouting and firing the gun that made his ears ring for almost a _week_.

James waits a few moments before putting his fingers in his mouth and giving the silent whistle to his dog, who blinks into his room within seconds.

"I wanna hear what they're talking about," James whispers to him and he's blinked away.

 

*

 

James excels at every subject.

He eats lunch with anyone that he wants to, and he invites other kids to join if they look lonely.

He's fluent in Spanish, so he makes friends with some of the ESL kids and shares secrets with them. He learns new swear words that would make his dad _faint_.

He always has freshly laundered clothes, and shiny shoes.

The asthma treatments work, and his lungs go back to full capacity and he doesn't smell burning anymore.

When he goes home, it's the same routine. He finishes his homework, does his chores, and has a pleasant dinner with the Griffins.

Then, like always, he goes upstairs to his room, grabs Patches, and cries himself to sleep.

And he doesn't know why.

 

*

 

"They saw him," his dad says. "They know who he is."

James watches with his dog from their hiding place, within earshot but out of sight.

"You know how they fight. You know they look for weak spots."

His father holds up a knife, turning it over and carefully polishing it. His dad is disassembling and reassembling a rifle.

They're both keeping their hands busy. It means they're scared.

"We have to talk about it again, don't we?" his father looks up. "About that crazy stupid idea that shouldn't even _exist_."

"The crazy stupid idea that gets less crazy the more we think about it?"

"Yeah," his father says, taking a deep breath and putting his knife down. "I wanna talk to everyone else first. Meeting first thing in the morning, I'll send out a message."

"Mmm, and we should probably send _someone_ to bed," his dad raises his eyebrow and looks at James. "¿Qué bolá, _chiquito_?"

James gasps and puts his arms around the dog's neck, and he's teleported back into his room where he dives under the covers and tries to fall asleep.

 

*

 

The therapist plays board games with him and he sometimes talks about memories and dreams and his therapist worries he's getting them confused.

"Your parents were pilots."

"Yeah."

"Then I think you meant to say _plane_ , James. They took you for a flight in one of their planes."

"What did I say?"

"Lion."

"Oh."

Post-traumatic stress. Partial memory loss. Brain damage.

Nothing new.

 

*

 

"It's gonna be okay."

James can't stop crying. His dad hands him Patches after giving him a goodbye kiss too.

"Be good, chiquito. We love you so much."

James nods.

His father finally lets go of the dog, allowing him to lick his face and nuzzle him. "It's gonna be okay, Jim."

"Can't I take him with me?" James asks again burying his face in blue fur.

His father shakes his head. "You have Patches, anytime you miss us just give them a hug and–"

The image freezes.

"And?" James asks, "what? And what?!" he screams.

"P--ss o- --e -oo-h."

The words are garbled. "What?" he reaches out to his father's face as it fuzzes and distorts at his touch.

"!semaJ !htoot eht no sserP"

"Daddy! Papa!"

"!miJ"

"Dad! Pops!"

_To the blue mile touch it can field press red you toy keep red play trying safe been island too quantum much tooth it hurt lie on three save him turn sing drink too much, too much, burning, touch, wait, wait for it._

_When you see her, just…_

_Come home._

*

 

James wakes up covered in sweat. He runs to the closet where Patches has been retired to now that he's about to graduate.

"You're coming with me when I get into the Galaxy Garrison, Patches," James whispers to his beloved childhood toy. "I don't care what anyone says."

 

*

 

He promises to call every other night and to still see a counselor every week and the Griffins finally say yes to the Garrison, and they frame his acceptance letter.

He's not a minute into unpacking in his bunk and looking for a good hiding spot when he hears a hauntingly familiar voice.

"Wow. You still have that old toy hippo?"

James sighs. "Hi, Keith."

"Hey, James."

There's some merciful silence before Keith starts up again. Already unpacked, he must not have that much stuff. James is still hanging photos of his friends and the Griffins.

"So, some kind of animal bit them or what?"

"What?"

Keith points back at Patches. "That bite mark there. Like a big dog or a wolf or–"

"My dog. I was a little kid and they got stuck in his mouth and he had to bite down to get them out," James huffs, "I think he was trying to bring Patches to me because I was scared."

Keith snickers.

"What's so funny about my dog?"

"Nothing, I just never knew this thing had a name. _Patches_ , huh?" Keith shrugs and flops down on his bed, taking out something from behind his back. "It suits them."

"Whatever," James says and ignores whatever Keith has in his hands, making sure to take extra care to hang photos of him with the Griffins as close to Keith's bunk as possible.

 

*

 

The new kid is really funny. He does silly dances in the hallway and he's always super excited about every little thing. He sneaks around at night and James eyes him carefully humming the Mission Impossible theme song as he creeps around the dormitory after curfew for first-years.

James sputters and laughs, clapping his hand over his mouth when the kid stares at him with terrified eyes.

"Please don't report me!"

James shakes his head. "Don't worry about it, what's your name again?"

"Lance," he says in a quiet voice.

"Hey Lance, I'm James," he says holding his hand out.

A surprisingly calloused one grips his back.

 

*

 

"Seriously!?" Lance shouts, disturbing the entire mess hall. Iverson gives them a warning glare. "Sorry!" Lance says, ducking his head, but turns back to James. "But seriously, that's your name?"

"Yeah. James Tiberius Griffin."

"No way! I always wanted to name my future kid that! Jim Kirk is the reason I wanted to go into space! Drive a cool flashy spaceship, captain the shit out of it, make out with hot alien babes."

"Have unspoken sexual tension with your first officer?"

"Duh!" Lance says through a mouthful of peanut butter and banana toast. "We'd be all rivals at first, and bicker and trade clever barbs, but eventually I'd melt through their icy exterior to the warm fluffy love of my life hidden beneath," Lance sighs. "I mean, falling in love with your best friend, that's how my parents ended up together."

James nods. "And if your first officer is a guy?"

"A babe's a babe," Lance shrugs.

James smiles. "My Dad would tell my Pops that."

"You have two dads!?" Lance shouts and somewhere across the room Keith snaps his spork in half.

"Uhh, well kinda? I got adopted by the Griffins when I was 11, but I have kind of a messed up memory from before," James scratches his neck. "There was a car accident. I don't know much, but I remember my Dad and my Pops, and we had this big dog… Little snips of things here and there."

"Sorry," Lance puts his toast down.

James waves it off, "Ta bien, no es nada," he says with a wink. Waits to see Lance light up again bright and smiling at the revelation that he'd been holding onto ever since he'd heard Lance softly singing _Ojos Así_ to himself while waiting to get into a flight simulator.

Lance gasps. "¿Tú hablas español?"

"Sí, uno de mis papis es de Cúba."

"¿Enserio? ¡Yo soy Cubano!"

James beams right back at Lance. Ignoring the death glare he's getting from Keith at the other side of the room.

 

*

 

"Your number one fan finally give you an afternoon off?" Keith says to him.

James doesn't look up from his lovely engraved rosewood ukulele as he tunes it. A gift the Griffins gave him for his thirteenth birthday, replacing the cheap plastic one he'd quickly outgrown.

"Actually we're gonna have a jam session outside, he has a guitar. He's gonna flirt awkwardly with passers-by while I get to practice Shakira covers," James spares Keith a glance. "Did you wanna come?"

"No," Keith has his trademark scowl and crossed arms. "I don't need to watch him drooling all over you."

James scoffs. "Uh, yeah _no_ , he doesn't–"

"He's like your little yappy dog, just following you around, telling you how cool you are."

James plucks the strings in perfect harmony and lights up. "Oh my god, you're jealous!?"

"What?"

"You have never been jealous of anything of mine really, unless your weird obsession with Patches has finally come to a head which, no Keith. You can't have my hippo, I don't care how cool you think they are. So you're jealous of the fact that a certain someone is following me around like a puppy because you want him to–mmph!" Keith claps a hand over James's mouth.

"I am not. Jealous. Of you and _Taylor_. Get it through your overblown thick head!" Keith scoffs and leaves the dormitory in a huff.

"Taylor?"

 

*

 

"Well sometimes people call me 'the Tailor', 'cause of how I _thread the needle,_ " Lance says with a laugh and a strum of his guitar.

"Seriously?" James cocks his head.

"It's because he's good at sewing," an older student interrupts them, adjusting her glasses and Lance's face falls.

"Veronica, come on!" he whines and she drops an olive green garment on his head.

"It got a hole in the pocket again."

"Seriously?" Lance drops his guitar to look over the jacket. "Y'know I've lost count of how many times I've patched this up, I'm keeping it this time!"

Veronica shrugs. "Do what you will, _Tailor._ "

"Ugh, you're lucky you're an only child. Wanna trade me for a slightly used sarcastic older sister?"

James shakes his head. "She's all yours, pal."

They start riffing back and forth, Lance starts a melody and James copies it. "So uh, your bunk-mate… He was asking about me?"

"Huh?"

"Yeah, the angry kid with the mullet?"

James feels his stomach drop at the look on Lance's face.

Oh no.

Ohhhh noooo.

Lance is too sweet, too funny, too kind to be into a weirdo pseudo thug-rebel who just coasts through everything like _Keith_ _fucking Kogane_.

He has to stop this right now.

"Yeah, Keith's a jerk."

"Huh?"

"He doesn't even know your name."

"What?! I'm right behind him in almost all our classes!"

James shrugs. "He doesn't really care about other people."

Lance pouts, hitting a minor chord. "That jerk."

 

*

 

"Are you going to stare at the back of my head or do you want to ask me a question like a real human being would?" James says to Keith as they wait for class to start.

"...Can I ask you a question?" he says through gritted teeth.

James turns around to face him. "No," Keith snaps his pencil. "After class."

"Fine," Keith practically hisses.

James finds himself walking with Keith back to the barracks, both with their hands jammed in their pockets.

"Taylor keeps staring at me and saying things to me," Keith says, "did you tell him something?"

James takes a deep breath. "I have no idea what you're talking about, I spent all of yesterday with my friend, Lance."

"Lance?"

"Yeah, he's Cuban like me, so we talk about stuff we have in common."

"So you didn't hang out with Taylor?"

"I swear, I have not seen Taylor all weekend."

"... You're messing with me."

"Only a little," James smiles, wondering how long he can dangle this carrot on a string in front of Keith before he figures it out.

 

*

 

Best laid plans and all comes crashing down when Kerberos happens.

Everyone's walking around in a daze. There's flowers and candles and soft prayers and whispers.

Keith is a powder keg. He knows it's coming soon, James thinks about the bloody tooth in Keith's hand and shudders. He's already tasted the kid's right hook, he doesn't want to know what comes after that. So he avoids the fuck out of Keith, hoping he'll go off in the opposite direction.

He doesn't expect to find him already in a screaming match with Iverson the second he walks into the mess hall for breakfast.

It's about something _really_ trivial: a missing pitcher of orange juice from the staff table. But apparently that's enough to push them both off the edge.

Something overtakes his desire to stay the heck away from dodge, and somehow James ends up being the one to pull him off of Iverson and drag him kicking and screaming away. He takes him back to the dorm and throws him on his bed. Keith goes limp and lays there, face down, unmoving.

Something pangs in James, and he reaches under his bed for Patches, but stops when Keith sniffles and faces him.

"I fucked everything up, didn't I?" he says.

"Yeah," James crosses his arms. "You probably did."

"Sounds about right," Keith sniffs, rubbing his face as he hears boots hitting the floor, drawing closer. "Bye forever… again."

"See you never?"

"Promise you won't call."

"Only if you never write."

The boots stop outside the door. Murmurs and whispers of the higher ups and how to handle the situation. Keith maybe has two or three minutes before they come discharge him.

James doesn't know why, but he reaches under his bed and takes out Patches, walking over to Keith's bunk and sits down. "Here, just look at them already, I know you've always wanted to."

Keith smirks, then reaches behind his back, and hands him a sheathed dagger. "Here's my one and only childhood relic, wanna see?"

They exchange items. James carefully turns the dagger in his hands, it feels so light, and the stone gleams in his eyes. It feels warm, strangely, in his hands. There's… an energy there he can't quite explain.

"It was my mom's," Keith says.

"It's gorgeous," James turns to see Keith holding Patches, tracing the lines of where his dog bit down. "My dads gave them to me when I was a baby."

"What color were they supposed to be? All these patches, red and blue, the little yellow one, the big green one."

"Purple," James smiles. "They've been through a lot."

"We have that in common," Keith says handing Patches back and receiving his knife in return.

James returns to his bunk and politely pretends to ignore all the officers that come swarming in to remove Keith and every last trace of him from the room.

He's flipping through a book when he hears a quiet little "See you around, _Jimbo_."

James should flip out, and shout at Keith that he doesn't let anyone call him that but–

 

*

 

" _James Tiberius Kogane-McClain!_ "

James laughs and runs away but is easily scooped up by his father, lifted to eye level with those familiar deep-violet eyes, and the curving red scar that sits on his right cheek.

"Whatcha do now, Jimbo?" he asks.

James stuffs the stolen peanut-butter banana bread in his mouth as quickly as possible.

"Nuffin," he says while chewing.

"Nothing? Didn't take the last slice of your Uncle Hunk's special banana bread from Dad?"

James shakes his head and swallows. "Must have been someone else."

"Ohh, must have been the _other_ James Tiberius Kogane-McClain, right."

"Yeah, that guy's a jerk."

His father laughs and carries him back towards the house.

 

*

 

His parents are talking to Slav and Uncle Shiro and Aunt Allura and almost all his extended family is there. His Aunt Pidge is currently trying to preoccupy him with some new game she came up with but he keeps looking back over his shoulder at them. His dad keeps rubbing his eyes and his father is squeezing his hands so hard his knuckles are white.

 

*

 

The portal makes his stomach pull and rearranges everything in his life and then he's back, stumbling next to flaming wreckage as one of the firefighters shouts, "Hey! There's a kid here!" and his life changes forever.

 

*

 

James blinks in and out of memories all evening and night as everything in his life knits itself back together. He almost misses his scheduled call with the Griffins, but puts on the fakest smile in the universe and sits through it like having teeth pulled.

 

*

 

He avoids Lance.

But doesn't stop watching him. A goofy kid with big ears that still dances in the hallway and eats peanut butter and banana sandwiches every morning. He crows about Keith leaving being the best thing ever and bounces into fighter pilot class like he's lighter than air.

He's not like his dad, the man who quietly hugs his father from behind while he does dishes and kisses the scar on his face. He's not the voice sternly warning him about swearing, and fastidiously correcting his Spanish and English grammar. He's not the person holding his hands on guitar strings and humming along to the sounds to show him how to replicate a perfect G-chord.

Uncle Hunk freaks out and throws up all the time. Not like the giant, fearless man who rushed in, guns blazing, and flew him and Kosmo to safety when the druid broke into his house and tried to kill him in his sleep.

Aunt Pidge keeps pretending to be a guy and hiding her intellect, trying not to stand out. Not like the woman who sabotaged an entire enemy fleet using a computer virus while simultaneously reading him _Where the Wild Things Are,_  and doing silly monster voices.

It's very surreal.

"Has to be an alternate timeline," James mutters, writing it all out in a notebook. "No way those are my parents in this reality. Besides," James remembers sabotaging Keith and 'Taylor'. "Pretty sure I would have Marty McFly'd myself out of existence by now if it wasn't," James nods to himself.

 

*

 

Lance, Hunk and Pidge disappear one night. There's footage of them and Keith on some security feed and James has a very odd feeling in his stomach.

He takes a red sharpie out from his desk, and opens one of his Garrison yearbooks. He finds a picture of Keith, and carefully draws a curving red scar on his face. Then scribbles all over the page like crazy and tears it out of the book with a shout.

He's so _angry_.

 

*

 

James makes a fist, almost threatening to lower it on Kosmo. "I hate him! Look what he did!" he points to what's left of his shredded friend.

"No!" both of his parents snap, their faces coming into view.

Lance McClain, with blue eyes and his normally mirthful smile set in a hard frown.

Keith Kogane, standing stoically in-between him and Kosmo, arms crossed and eyes flaring dark violet and a flash of yellow sclera letting James know how bad he's about to mess up if he follows through.

His dad scoops him up and his father is gathering what's left of his precious toy while he's carried off.

"You know better than this! Keith and I raised you better than this! You do not threaten an animal with violence because you're angry! Ever!" his Dad says, sitting him down on the bed. "What do you do when you're mad?"

"But, _Dad!_ "

"What is okay for you to do when you are mad?"

"I can… hit a pillow. I can break a crayon. I can scream if it's at home and everyone knows I'm okay. I can cry and I can talk to you or Papa."

"And what did you try to do?"

James sniffles, "I... almost hit Kosmo. And that's not okay. I love him."

"Chiquito," his dad cups his face. "He loves you too. I love you. Your father loves you."

James nods, tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Hey," his father is at the doorway, knocking gently. "I'm pretty sure they're still salvageable, Lance. If you wanna go check them out in your office?"

Lance nods and hugs James one more time before leaving the room. Keith switches places with him, embracing his son, petting his hair.

"You wanna go break some crayons?"

James shakes his head.

"Wanna carve your initials in a tree? Or just stab it a couple times?"

Another no.

"Ahh Jimbo, I'm sorry," Keith kisses the top of his head. "You got the Galra temper. It's hard to stop lashing out, but I promise you can learn to redirect that energy."

"What do you do?"

Keith bites the side of his mouth. "I save it for Lan–uhh, I have a thumb-wrestling contest with your dad."

"That sounds stupid."

"Your dad is very good at thumb wars. He's got very long fingers. Beating him takes skill."

 

*

 

James puts down his cereal spoon mid-bite.

"They weren't thumb wrestling. Oh my god."

"What?" Rizavi asks.

"Nothing!" James squeaks.

 

*

 

The dream clears itself one night.

"It's gonna be okay, Jim."

"Can't I take him with me?" James asks, again burying his face in Kosmo's blue fur.

His father shakes his head. "You have Patches, anytime you miss us just give them a hug and take them somewhere safe, press on the tooth," he points at the misshapen one his dad sewed on. "And we'll be there."

 

*

 

James stares at Patches.

Patches stares back. Same big toothy smile as always.

He's alone in one of his classrooms. Everyone's gone for the long weekend. The building is quiet.

"This is so stupid," James says aloud to no one. But he reaches out, and touches the bottom tooth until he feels it. Something's in there. Something with a button that he can press.

An image projects from Patches and flickers in the air, a box that slowly changes shapes and colors until a video images develops and a familiar voice shouts at him.

_"James! ¡Ay mijo! Mi vida, te amo, we missed you so much! Look how big you are! Prometeme me no dating until you're twenty-two, pero mi corazón no puede soportarlo! Are you eating enough?"_

He looks at his dad for the first time in over eight years and starts to cry.

 

*

 

"It's only been a week!?" James gasps. "How?"

_"James, when this is over, you're only going to have been gone for about three months, our time."_

"I'll-I'll be so old!" his dad laughs.

_"Eight years isn't a week. It just took you this long to remember what to do, okay?"_

James leans his head back. "Fuck, I could've been talking to you this entire time?"

_"Language."_

"I'm 18!"

_"Ugh, don't remind me."_

"Of what? That you didn't have to give me any sex talks or deal with the embarrassing nights requiring my sheets to be changed?"

His dad rests his chin on his folded hands. _"Damn, I promised your Aunt Pidge she could scar you with her plastic models and terrible drawings."_

James laughs and then notices his dad looking behind him. _"And we have incoming!"_

There's a flash and the video is full of a familiar slobbery blue face barking happily. "Kosmo!" James smiles and Kosmo starts licking at the air like it's his face. Then a familiar arm shoves him back, taking off a helmet to shake out messy dark hair. It's his father, smiling ear to ear, red scar pointing towards violet eyes wet with tears.

_"Jim!"_

"Papa!"

 

*

 

He talks with them all night long, all about the Griffins, about the Garrison. They avoid some of the _odder_ subjects, like how he's been surrounded by his family this entire time. Eventually his dad starts to tire, and falls back onto the familiar couch, snuggled with Kosmo. He's still speaking quietly with his father as dawn starts to break.

 _"Hey Jim,"_ Keith looks behind him at Lance, then back at the screen. _"Can you do me a favor?"_ he whispers.

"Yeah?"

_"There's a seam on Patches, where the green patch is, I want you to feel around for a zipper."_

James traces the lining of it, and a very small, plastic zipper catches on his fingertips. "Yeah, how did I not notice this before?"

_"Unzip it. There should be two envelopes in there."_

James does as he asks and pulls out two, well worn envelopes, showing them to his father.

_"Good work. One of them has a name and a date on it, has that date happened yet?"_

The ink is faded, but he can make out the date. "No, it's a few months from now."

His father breathes out. _"Thank god. Okay can you recognize the name?"_

"Adam? W-something? It's all fuzzy. Oh, is it Professor Wilhelm?"

 _"Yeah, on that date, and only on that date, you go find him as early as possible, and you give him that envelope. Make sure he opens it. And James, I realize this is a bit of Pandora's box here, but you_ **_cannot_ ** _under any circumstances, open it before then. I can't tell you why, but it is so important, you have no idea."_

"But–"

 _"James Tiberius,_ **_please_ ** _promise me you will do this for me. And do_ **_not_ ** _tell your dad. Trust me, okay?"_

But he's in an alternate timeline. What if this butterfly affects something in this reality's future? His father's eyes are wide and serious, like when he was being sent away and he could tell how scared and sad he was.

"Okay Pops," James nods. "I trust you. I promise I won't open it before that day."

His father smiles. _"You're such a good kid, you know that? Okay, the next envelope is blank, and you can open that one any time. There's a small data drive inside with some coordinates and a text file of instructions. Any time before the date on that envelope, if you can get off-campus, go to the coordinates and follow the instructions."_

"What's it for?"

His father has _that_ smile on his face. His 'let's go eat all the ice-cream before Lance gets home'-face.

_"You're going on a treasure hunt, Jim."_

 

*

 

The desert is calm and quiet. James pulls up to the small shack a little after sundown, before the air catches too much of a chill. He hops out of his jeep, and turns on his flashlight.

There's a padlock on the door, but the instructions told him to pack tools, and a snip of some bolt-cutters later have the door swinging open.

The place was ransacked, everything points to someone, or a group of someones, tearing it up to find any clues or a missing item. There's dust shadows on the walls where large paintings or cork boards might have once hung. All the furniture is overturned and cushions have been sliced open with stuffing pulled out. There's some leftover strips of police tape that James snaps just for the fun of it.

He carefully counts the floorboards from the entrance, like the instructions say. He stops on number 32, and takes out his toolbag again.

It takes a bit of work with the flashlight sitting on his shoulder and digging with the awl to get enough wood away to start pulling the nails out with his crowbar. Once all four are gone, he hacks at the floor until all the wood is finally up, ignoring the clouds of dust and possibly small wood-bugs scattering away.

There's a layer of dirt, but when James prods at it with the crowbar to see how deep it goes, he's surprised that it pushes back. He tries his hand next, feeling a spongy, artificial texture that dirt shouldn't have. He grabs at the false dirt, pulling it up and realizing it's just plain foam insulation painted brown.

And beneath that he finds the black fireproof box. He grabs it and makes for the jeep, wanting to get back to the Garrison and on a call with his parents as soon as he can.

 

*

 

"That's not the code either," James huffs. "Can't I try the bolt cutters?"

 _"Don't, I wired it with an old battery. It'll shock you,"_ his father says, sitting at the kitchen table now. He can see his dad moving back and forth behind him, prepping dinner and tossing scraps to Kosmo keep him occupied.

"I'll just dump it in the pool then."

 _"James,_ **_no_** _. Try your grandmom's name again?"_

"I've tried Krolia already. And Keith, Akira, Galra, Blade, Knife, Texas, _Yorak_ ... every 5 to 6 letter word I can think of that has _anything_ to do with your side of the family and–" James pauses, counting on his fingers. "You're sure the code was grandpa's, and you _never_ changed it?"

His father clicks his tongue. _"Y'know what, I might have? Try 'Shiro'."_

"Don't need to, already got it in one."

_"What was it?"_

James smirks. "Taylor"

 _"SERIOUSLY KEITH?!"_ he hears his dad shouting from off-camera as his father buries his head in his hands and groans.

James opens the box and oohs over the treasure trove of memorabilia within. Photos of his grandpa and grandmom, even a few childhood pictures of his father.

"Oh my god. You had a _mullet_ when you were a baby!"

 _"Right?"_ Lance slides into the frame, handing a plate of whatever he'd cooked for dinner to Keith and beaming. _"Do you know he cried when it got caught in the helmet and we had to cut it out?"_

 _"I cried because my hair was stuck to my suit with rhynellian hardening spittle and tearing my scalp off, if anything it was from_ **_relief_** _,"_ Keith pouts and pokes at his food.

"You never grew it back?"

 _"If your father blinks and misses a trim he has instant hockey hair, constant vigilance is required on my part,"_ Lance puffs out his chest. _"Of course, he's handsome either way."_

Keith crosses his arms. _"Less helmet sweat and less chance of it getting caught during hand-to-hand. I'm pragmatic, I don't care about what I look like."_

 _"Yeah you do, you like being handsome for me,"_ Lance cups his father's chin, _"otherwise you wouldn't let me cover you in charcoal masks and allow those overworked pores a chance to breathe."_

James sighs, missing their banter but also catching sight of their dinner. "Are those maduros and pulled-pork with Uncle Hunk's homemade satay sauce?"

_"Uhhhh…"_

Keith nods. _"Yeah."_

James stomach growls. "I miss your cooking. The Griffins are nice and all but," James sucks his teeth, trying to phrase it politely. "I don't think they know saffron is an ingredient and not a color. Y'know?"

 _"They put raisins in potato salad?"_ Keith smirks.

"I get side-eye whenever I reach for the salt and pepper."

Lance widens his eyes. _"No paprika?"_

"They didn't own a rice cooker before I asked for one. They still bought microwaveable rice."

 _"Well,_ **_bless their hearts_** _, they tried,"_ Keith says stabbing angrily at a piece of fried plantain.

 _"Somewhere I can sense your Uncle Hunk clutching his chest in pain,"_ Lance shakes his head. _"I'm gonna get my mom's notebooks and dictate her recipes to you okay?"_

James yawns. "Next time Dad, I'm kind of spent."

They say their goodnights and James carefully re-packs the lockbox when a gleam of something gold catches his eye.

He lifts up a solid gold ring, studded with jewels and numbers printed into the sides representing the firehouse and district in Texas where his grandpa was from. He turns it over carefully in his hands, feeling the weight and imagining his grandpa wearing the ring with pride as he lifts up a photo of him in his full gear, saluting proudly with a young version of his father smiling happily on his shoulders.

 

*

 

"Um, Professor Wilhelm?" James says with a knock on the door.

He turns and gives him a warm smile. "Hello Cadet Griffin, how can I help you?"

"Sorry, I know these office hours are for your current students, I just wanted to see if you had a moment?"

Professor Wilhelm nods and ushers him in, the door closing behind him.

"This is gonna sound really weird, okay?" James says, taking the envelope out of his uniform pocket. "But um, my father asked me to give you this?"

Professor Wilhelm raises his eyebrows. "I don't think I've met Mr. Griffin?"

"No, uh, my biological father."

He takes the envelope from James and and opens it cautiously. There's nothing inside, just a blank slip of paper. He shows James.

"I um, I had it on me for a while, maybe the ink faded?"

Professor Wilhelm puts it to his nose. "Huh," then he grins, "no I think the ink held up just fine. Smell this," he says handing James the paper and rummaging through his desk.

There's a trace scent, something chemical, but nothing he recognizes. "I guess it smells a little like, cleaning fluid?"

Professor Wilhelm is screwing a purple light bulb into his desk lamp. "Get the lights?" James does so and he see the paper illuminate.

"What is it?"

"Calligraphy," Professor Wilhelm whispers. "Japanese calligraphy."

"Can you read it?"

He nods. "Sort of. It's a poem I'm familiar with… Your father, was he friends with Ta-uh, with Lieutenant Shirogane?"

"Yeah."

Professor Wilhelm swallows. "Thank you, James, could I have a few minutes?"

James nods and excuses himself from the room. He then sneezes suddenly.

Huh.

His throat's kind of raw. Did he… Did he have water today?

He feels dizzy. The floor is cool against his cheek where he lays down.

 

*

 

Stupid flu.

Everything hurts and even though he had all his flu shots, he still got sick? It's not fair.

Professor Wilhelm is in the cot next to him, watching a screen of the mission he was supposed to fly. James' head swims and he wishes he had Patches but he'd rather not infect them with whatever germs are currently swimming through his body.

"No…" comes a broken, sickly voice from the bed next to his.

James turns to face… Professor… Wait, he's remembering… Something's changing...

The man in the cot next to him is his _Uncle Adam_. He and Uncle Shiro are married in the future he's from. How could he forget? He's known Adam his entire life.

James rubs his temples. Ugh, this damn flu.

"They're all dead," he whispers. "I was supposed to fly with them today."

His Uncle Adam looks so broken, so sad. He just wants to hug him and comfort him. He wants to tell him that maybe in this reality his Uncle Shiro is going to set foot back on Earth and it'll be okay. But he can't be sure, he's _got_ to be in an alternate timeline.

So he closes his eyes and thinks about the good future he knows they have in his reality.

 

*

 

"Uncle Adam! Uncle Shiro!" James goes barreling towards the door and he gets lots of hugs and kisses and before his dad can react, his Uncle Shiro is letting him balance on his awesome prosthetic arm as it hovers mid-air.

His dad catches him regardless. "James Tiberius, you get down! Te juró que te vas a romper el cuello un día de estos."

"Dad! Te preocupas demasiado," James answers but he's already being carefully lowered to the ground while Lance gives Shiro the evil eye and he responds with a shrug.

His father laughs and gives Adam a hug, "Thanks for coming on short notice."

"It's not a problem, go enjoy your date night you two," Adam says, walking over to the dinner table to unload his bag of take-out. Shiro follows with another bag overflowing with plenty of games and vids for them.

James spies the chicken wings and slides into a chair as Adam serves him a plate of just drumsticks, dripping with extra sauce. His parents give him goodbye hugs and kisses and start putting on their jackets.

"Are you two doing anything special?" Uncle Shiro asks. "Dinner and a movie?" Keith shakes his head.

"Dinner and a… walk?"

Another no.

"Keith, _please_ eat dinner."

"Something's gonna get eaten," Keith says, eying Lance with his hungry Galra stare. Not the angry one, the other one, the one he gets after he's been on a mission for two weeks and comes home and glares at his dad until they call a babysitter and Kosmo blinks them away somewhere.

" _Keith!_ " both his dad and Uncle Shiro yell. Now it's him and Uncle Adam laughing as Kosmo licks the excess barbeque sauce off his fingers.

 

*

 

They're both already sick, James figures. He sits on the side of his Uncle Adam's bed and puts his hand on the older man's shoulder, squeezing tight.

"I should be dead," he whispers.

_I shouldn't be alive yet._

"You're not," James steels his resolve, channeling every ounce of his parents into him, "so what you do next is what's important. Not what you didn't do today."

Adam gives him a broken smile. "How'd you get to be such a good kid, James Griffin?"

"I had the best people in the universe showing me how," he smiles back.

 

*

 

He's half-asleep, stretched out across both his Uncle's laps.

"He used to fit just on my lap, he's getting so big," Uncle Shiro brushes some of his hair out of his face.

"Do you miss baby-James? All huffy and proudly the perfect mix of stubborn bratty Keith and chaos magnet Lance?"

"A little," Shiro sighs. "He was also a bit of curious and clever Keith, figuring things out before anyone even told him. Remember when he figured out how to unlock a door with a bobby pin?"

"And a dash of Lance's caring heart, like when Kosmo ate that wasp? He spent the entire day and night with him, hand-feeding him because he could barely open his jaw, and making sure he had plenty of water."

"He's still all those things, just now we get Lance's back-sass and the occasional Keith-grump."

Adam rests his head on Shiro's shoulder. "You wanna have one of these of our own some day?"

"I dunno, we kind of get the best of both worlds here, all the fun and when it gets messy we just toss him back at the parents."

"True."

"I am hearing all of this," James opens an eye but before he can add anything else he yawns.

"Okay kiddo, bedtime," Uncle Adam nods as Uncle Shiro lifts him up to carry him off, Kosmo trailing behind.

They tuck him in, and Adam hands him Patches with a wistful smile. "I remember when this thing was brand new."

"When?" James asks halfway to dreaming.

Shiro laughs quietly. "Your parents bought him the week they decided to have a kid, otherwise known as 'That Week Lance and Keith Went Temporarily Insane'," he shakes his head.

"Whaaa?"

Adam and Shiro sit on opposite edges of his bed, relating the tale back and forth.

"So they hadn't even been to a doctor yet, and Lance started it by maxing out a credit card on baby formula and different paint colors for the bedroom," Adam starts. "He bought so many toys and games and dolls and balloons. Like they were actually going to stay inflated long enough?"

"Keith went to a hardware store and bought 50 rolls of duct tape. He put duct tape on every. Single. Thing. Like, that was how he thought baby-proofing worked? Table edges? Duct tape. Window panes? Duct tape. All the cabinets and drawers? He sealed them shut with duct tape!" James is laughing so hard that tears are streaming down his face.

"Really?" he asks, picturing his normally composed parents frantically running around the house with balloons and rolls of silver tape.

"When the dust settled, they returned what they could. And your Aunt Pidge and Uncle Hunk came over and helped with the great un-taping adventure. Everything was sticky for like a month, Aunt Allura had to cook up some kind of Altean solvent," Shiro says.

"But there was one toy that Keith, your father, insisted they keep for you," Adam squeezes Patches on the muzzle. "They kept this in their bedroom for almost a year, big red and blue bow around the neck. Just waiting for the day they could bring you home and give them to you."

James hugs Patches closer.

 

*

 

Veronica doesn't care that they're in the midst of an intergalactic war for the survival of humanity. James is _not_ allowed to be alone on Thanksgiving.

"The other MFEs are coming, so you won't be overwhelmed by my family, I _promise,_ " she says. "I know you're not used to big family gatherings, you're an only child, right?"

James nearly bites _through_ his tongue at the idea that his Aunt Veronica thinks he isn't used to loud, chaotic family celebrations and dinners. "I'll think about it," James says. He honestly just wanted to call his parents that night and go to bed early.

"Back when Lance was here, he told me you're half-Cuban, is that right?"

"Yeah?"

Veronica lowers her voice to a whisper. "We got ahold of some _real_ plantains. You wanna pass up on the best home-cooked maduros in your life, James?"

James wipes the drool from the corners of his mouth. His grandma's maduros? He hasn't had them in nearly a _decade_.

"These are absolutely cruel and unfair coercion tactics."

"Go cry to the Geneva convention," Veronica smirks. "There may or may not be some _coquito_ being snuck under the table, away from the little ones."

"You had me at maduros, I'll be there."

*

Of the MFEs, James is the least fazed by the McClain-Martinéz-Rivera-Ríos family Thanksgiving. When his grandma (or her alternate reality counterpart) starts ordering them around the room to set tables and help with prep, he does so quickly and without question.

When his grandpa starts one of his long stories that goes nowhere because he forgets the moral halfway through, he's the only one who knows to tune out and instead starts playing Hesitation with his cousins to keep them occupied so they don't run around the too-small room and knock anything down.

He knows which seat to take, and to make sure that Rizavi is on the right side of him so she can match the energy of his chatterbox Great-Aunt Sibby.

Kinkade is two seats to his left, next to his grandfather because he'll actually listen to those go-nowhere stories and not offend him by tuning out since his poker face is so tight.

And that way they both flank Leifsdottir so she's how she said she'd be the most comfortable, and he can quietly translate when she leans in and whispers an unknown word or phrase at him.

Veronica gives him an odd little smile toward the end of the evening, when his cousins–well her niece and nephew–are passed out asleep in his lap as they all sit on the floor, crowding a small sitting room and finishing off the coquito.

James just shrugs and she laughs it off. "I knew you'd love it here. Admit I was right, Griffin."

"You were right," James whispers, not wanting to wake the little ones.

He's not used to his older cousins being small enough to crawl all over him. In fact, he's usually the one fast asleep in one of their laps. It's a strange feeling, to be surrounded by so much of his family, but not being the baby anymore. He misses some of the attention, the extra pieces of sweets slipped to him and having his grandmother pick him up so he can help her reach things off of high shelves.

It's strange, surreal, but mostly it just makes him _ache_.

 

*

 

"When can I come back?" he murmurs to his half-asleep dad once he gets back to his bunk. He still has his avocado mask on and his father is making coffee in the background, epic bedhead as usual.

 _"Not yet, I'm sorry chiquito,"_ Lance says leaning his chin in his hand, eyes slipping shut and blinking back open suddenly.

"Why not?"

Keith puts down a cup of coffee in front of each of them. _"You'll know when. Just trust us, okay Jim?"_

James nods as the connection closes and they wave goodbye.

 

*

 

A routine develops. Days spent training and fighting and investigating possible solutions until they hit the newest roadblock.

Every few nights he finds another abandoned room or closet and steals a few precious moments with his parents.

Tonight when he opens the connection, it's just Kosmo. He's sitting in their living room, looking up at the screen.

James almost closes the connection as Kosmo trots over and starts licking and snuffling the image he must see of him. "Down, boy," he murmurs. Kosmo complies.

Hmm.

Kosmo was born in a quantum abyss. A place where laws of space and time are bent and twisted around without rhyme nor reason.

James is currently in an alternate timeline dystopian past because of some stupid theory involving a scientist named Slav and the fact that he was almost murdered in his sleep by a druid.

Stranger things have happened. And James puts his fingers in his mouth, and whistles.

Kosmo is at his side. Gone from the video image, just sitting there, wagging his tail. Smelling like home and grass and dirt and the laundry detergent from the blankets he rolls around in.

James puts his arms around Kosmo and laughs when he starts licking his earlobe. He doesn't cry into his fur, something in him feels too drained to do so. But he grabs Kosmo by the muzzle and puts their heads together.

"You'd take me home if I asked, wouldn't you?"

Kosmo yips in affirmation.

He looks deep into yellow-black eyes.

"It's not time yet," James sighs. He can't leave Earth the way it is. Sure, everything's fine in his future timeline, but if there's something, anything he can do for this one? He has to see it through. He has to give them a chance for a happy ending.

James rummages around the room until he finds a scrap of paper and something to write with. He wants to write something epic and meaningful, but he's just so damn _tired_.

 

> _Hey,_  
>  _I Miss you._  
>  _I Love you._  
>  _See you soon (I hope)._  
>  _Your Son,_  
>  _James Tiberius_ ~~_Gr_~~ _Kogane-McClain_

 

He folds the paper up, and gives Kosmo a stern look. "Don't eat this, okay? Just leave it on the table or something." and Kosmo carefully takes it in-between his teeth. He gives him a hug goodbye.

"Take care of Dad and Pops for me, okay boy?"

Kosmo yips. James whistles again, the signal for him to leave, and he disappears. He's back on the video image now, and James clicks it off.

His heart is racing, like he's broken or bent an unspoken rule about the situation and he's afraid of how his parents are going to react. He doesn't attempt another call until about two weeks later.

After the Paladins of Voltron finally show up.

 

*

 

They tell James and Rizavi to investigate the disturbance outside the Garrison. Possible civilian heat signatures detected and possibly about to be scooped up by drones or sentries. Get them before the Galra do.

James has done these runs before with Rizavi. Or Leifsdottir, Kinkade, Veronica. Any combination of them really. They either come back with grateful refugees or empty handed and bruised and with less ammo and energy than before.

He's on edge today. Something just feels off and he grips the steering wheel a little tighter than normal.

"Unclench," he tells himself.

"What's that Griffin?" Rizavi asks over the comm.

"Just talking to myself, ignore me," James sighs.

"Whoa! Did you see that? The civilians are firing back."

James magnifies the image. A red sniper rifle. He's seen it many, many times before. Intact and in pieces on the kitchen table while his dad meticulously cleaned and reassembled it.

The sound of his Uncle Hunk's bayard firing is unmistakable. He flinches, remembering the mild case of tinnitus he got when it went off too close to his ears during that one terrible night.

James is acting on pure adrenaline as he hits the gas and slams the sentry into the building nearby, then he's got his gun out and snipes at the paladins, doing his best to avoid eye contact with his father or the rest of his family.

It's not really them, right?

 

*

 

Rizavi is driving four of the five paladins of Voltron, so he's got the car full of Alteans including his Aunt Allura and Uncle Shiro, thankfully. He can stave off the panic rising in his chest.

Kosmo keeps pawing towards him, Allura's pulling him back.

"Sorry, he's probably just curious about you," Allura grimaces.

James holds back a laugh. "It's okay," he holds onto the wheel with one hand and reaches the other behind him. "Let him sniff or whatever."

He feels Kosmo nuzzling his hand and he pets him behind the ears but he keeps getting nudged by his mouth and–

Kosmo has something in his mouth, James feels it pushed into the palm of his hand and he quickly slides it in his pocket, Kosmo backs off and sits patiently between Allura and Shiro.

When Rizavi signals him to slow down and wait for a set of drones to finish their scans ahead of them, he takes the thing out from his pocket. It's a folded piece of paper, and written in only slightly slobber-blotted ink, a message he wasn't expecting: 

 

> _Kiddo,_
> 
> _You're lucky aunt Shay and I are house-sitting and we found it before your parents did._
> 
> _You don't mess with space-time continuums or cross the streams!! This is why we made you watch all those sci-fi movies. I'll hold onto the note until we figure out a good explanation for how it appeared._
> 
> _We miss you sooooo much. Hope it's sooner than soon._
> 
> _-huncle unk & AUNT SHAY XOXO _
> 
> _P.S. I TRIED TO POINT OUT THE IRONY OF DOING THE SAME THING TO DELIVER THIS MESSAGE BACK TO YOU BUT YOUR UNCLE SAYS IT IS DIFFERENT WE BOTH KNOW IT IS NOT._ _LOVE YOU TINY ORB <3_

 

*

 

"Did it really take a year for my parents to have me?" James asks his Uncle Hunk, thinking back to some of the things from his recent night with Uncle Adam and Uncle Shiro.

"Well, yeah," he says, scratching the back of his neck. "They had to do all these tests and bloodwork, make sure that all the human and half-galra genes were compatible enough. And when they finally got the green light, they needed a surrogate."

"A what?"

"Uhh, are you sure you don't want to ask your parents about this instead?"

Aunt Shay interrupts. "Artificial wombs were very new back then, so your parents decided to find a surrogate individual who had a natural womb to help gestate and carry you from a little tiny orb of genetic material into a healthy baby. After that, it took about nine months from when the little orb of you went in, and when you were born," Shay smiles and looks over to Hunk. "I am a _rock_ but apparently I am better at explaining human reproduction than my genius engineer husband."

James laughs as his Uncle Hunk sputters, trying to explain himself.

"So who did they ask to be their surrogate?" James asks. "Was it Aunt Allura?"

Hunk and Shay shake their heads no.

"Aunt Romelle?"

"They could not ask an Altean, they needed a human surrogate because there are some rare cases of mitochondrial DNA crossing over, and the Altean genes could have overwritten the human ones, they naturally have more chromosomes… You have no idea what I am talking about, do you James?" Shay asks.

"Mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell," James nods.

"And they didn't have to ask, they had a volunteer," Hunk smirks, remembering. "A surprisingly enthusiastic one."

 

*

 

When Rizavi calls it in, James knows what to expect as they pull up to the main Garrison building. Aunt Pidge goes flying into the arms of her parents.

She's different from when she was at the Garrison before. Which comforts and worries James at the same time.

His Aunt Pidge has always been a curveball. He only knows to expect the unexpected when she's around, and that whatever she says or does will either be the funniest or the weirdest thing he's ever heard or done.

Seeing her so earnest, so open with her emotions like now? Well, it's not _entirely_ without precedent, James reminds himself.

After all, he owes his very existence, (and possibly his mitochondria), to her.

 

*

 

"Ahh, so you now know the truth, finally I can tell you," she pushes her goggles up to her forehead, long messy brown hair spilling out of a half-bun, half-ponytail, like always. She grabs James by the shoulders with a manic smile. "Yes, James! Twas I!"

"Aunt _Pidge_?!"

"Yes, my dear little leechling. I was the one who housed you as a tiny parasite, allowed you to steal my food and oxygen for nine whole months, witnessed the horror first-hand as you transformed my body and rearranged all of my organs, all so I could poop you out in front of your parents and see the looks of terror on their faces as I laughed and screamed like a banshee."

Matt clicks his teeth. "Your Aunt Pidge was doped up on so many drugs she doesn't remember _anything_ , there were no 'looks of terror' or banshee screams. Just a lot of heavy breathing and I think she said 'ow' a total of three times. She has a ridiculously high pain tolerance."

"I did dress up like John Hurt from the Alien movies and wore a mechanical chestburster to freak out the staff before they doped me up," Pidge leans in, showing him an album of photos on her mobile of her in strange costumes with a large belly. "Hold on, that was the Christmas one, I filled a wine bottle with grape juice and went as a drunk Virgin Mary caroling. So much fun. Ah! Here's the birth one," Pidge points out a photo of her in a white outfit with fake blood spatter all over it.

"I swear you did it just for the fun of freaking people out with increasingly horrifying costumes."

" _Somebody_ was supposed to do the tap-dance gag from _Spaceballs_ with the placenta, but this cream-puff couldn't stop crying and instead just like, filmed everyone holding you and talking about how perfect you were. _Laaame_."

"There's a video?" James asks, and Matt is already tapping away on a data pad.

"Let me fast forward through the stuff that will scar you for life, hold on…"

"To be fair," Pidge says softly, "it wasn't all just for fun and costumes and pretending to smuggle hams out of grocery stores."

James nods her on.

"I love your parents," she smiles. "And honestly? I was curious, from a scientific perspective. The human body has all these funky weird adaptations for everything, I kind of wanted to experience it first hand, without any pressures of having to like, _be_ a parent afterwards. But like, now I know I can do this thing that I did. I learned a lot about myself, and about who I am, and who I want to be."

"Plus now all our older relatives are forever off your case about having a kid of your own," Matt says, leaning over the side of the couch.

"He's just jealous I came up with it first," Pidge says, sticking her tongue out at Matt.

"C'mere, I found the best part of the movie. No body horror, or gross stuff, I promise," Matt waves the two of them over and Pidge plunks James down in her lap.

"Ugh, is this the stupid mushy part?" she wrinkles her nose.

"Shh, listen young James Tiberius, this is the most sincere you will ever hear my sister be."

The video starts on Pidge. She's not wearing her glasses or goggles, her hair is down, sweat-soaked and sticking to her forehead and pillow as she lies back on the hospital bed.

_"Katie?"_

_"Yeah,"_ Pidge answers Matt as he speaks from behind the camera. _"I'm here. Is it over?"_

_"It's over, do you need–"_

_"Did I do it right? I didn't mess up anything?"_

_"Pidge?"_

_"They have like… fingers? And toes? And a face... Like a real person?"_

_"Yeah, they have all the fingers and toes and faces they'll need."_

_"That's nice. Are Keith and Lance happy? Do they like them?"_

_"They_ **_love_ ** _them."_

_"So, I did good?"_

_"You did_ **_so_ ** _good Katie-bug, do you wanna meet James?"_

She laughs. _"They really named the kid James Tiberius?"_

_"Yeah, he's James Tiberius McClain-Kogane, and–"_

_"OH HELL NO!"_ Pidge is fighting to sit up and the camera jostles. _"Hey,_ **_idiots_** _! I did not house and feed your kid for nine goddamn months of my life just to sit here and let you screw up his initials!"_

The camera pans to where his parents stand frozen in fear and confusion, surrounded by all his Aunts and Uncles, wearing similar expressions of shock.

 _"Kogane_ **_before_ ** _McClain! That way if it gets shortened, he has Kirk's initials! Duh!"_

Matt pauses the video as it shakes and blurs. "That blur right there is Lance shoving you into your father's arms while he runs off to tackle the attending physician before they got the birth certificate notarized. They actually made them rewrite the damn thing. You were almost 'James Tiberius _Kaitlyn_ ' before Keith talked your dad out of that edit."

"He's a damn fool," Pidge says, wiping at her eyes. "Okay! Enough mushy stuff! Wanna see my Halloween costume from that year? I was a Kaltenecker."

 

*

 

James has to turn his back on the epic McClain-Martinéz-Rivera-Ríos family reunion, because it hurts too much. Watching them embrace his dad, crying and hugging, the smiles and the laughs and the tears.

It's everything he's wanted. It's what keeps him far away from the coquito or wine when Veronica invites him and the MFEs to dinners. Because he's afraid of letting down his walls, afraid of how it could affect this reality's future if he got sloshed and started demanding his family recognize him as their alternate-reality nephew, cousin or grandchild.

Kosmo licks his fingers and he pets the big blue wolf, right behind the ears just how he likes. He'd be more emotional about getting his pet back in his life, if he hadn't snuck him into this dimension weeks earlier. Kosmo tilts his head, looking at something behind James. Kosmo nudges him hard, and he nearly falls over but turns around to look at whatever has caught his attention.

He's not ready for the next gut punch.

 

*

 

It's always a roll of the dice when he calls them. If it's early morning or night or middle of the day. He thinks his parents have started sleeping in shifts in the living room. The communicator is either always in that room or the kitchen. Never their bedroom (thank god).

"Keeeeeith," James says, trying to channel some b-movie ghost voice. "Keeeeeith! Waaaaaaake uuuuuup! Ooooh!" James smiles, watching his father snoring on the couch, his feet propped up on Kosmo.

His father sleeps like the dead though. He knows this.

"Hey, Pops?"

No answer. Maybe a snore.

"So, y'know how Dad gets on me about affecting timestreams and stuff?"

His father snores.

"I think I might have messed up this one, just a little bit."

More snoring.

"I uh, I put a pretty big wedge between you and Dad back in the Garrison," James admits. "Sometimes I feel guilty about that. Like, what if I hadn't? Would they have gotten to end up like you two did?"

No response.

"But it's like you keep saying, I'm where I need to be now. So, messing with the possible love lives of alternate-reality Keith and Lance shouldn't be a big deal, right? If something's meant to be, it'll be. So just because I stepped in, and the two of you never got together in the first place, then I guess it wasn't meant to be in this universe, right?" James says, more for the sake of thinking aloud, rationalizing his choices.

_"What makes you… so sure?"_

"Pop?"

 _"So sure… you didn't… make it easier… No, fuck you, Sendak! He's_ **_my_ ** _prom date."_

James laughs, wishing there was a way to capture his father's sleep-talking, or get his dad in the room to witness it. "Yes father, yes he is."

_"My prom now… Everyone else go home… I'm setting the gym on fire…"_

"You fell asleep watching old episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, didn't you?"

_"Stupid one-eyed fruit punch mouth looking fuckbucket…"_

"Watch your fucking language," James snickers.

 

*

 

Keith is walking over to where Lance is, fidgeting with his hands, like he's not sure where they go and Lance is waving him over enthusiastically.

James takes off his helmet, stepping closer to see and hear what the actual hell is happening.

"Everyone, this is Keith!" Lance says, putting his niece and nephew down, and standing up next to him. James watches as they grasp their hands together so easily. "Hey, it's okay," Lance says to Keith.

"There's a lot of them… your family," Keith turns his head, looking at Lance who only gives him an encouraging smile.

Keith turns back to the group and waves sheepishly. "Um, hi? I'm Keith." he says, awkward half-smile on his face.

_Oh no._

_Oh no no no no._

"Lance?" Veronica says looking between the two of them, a genuine smile spreading across her face. The rest of his family following suit. "Really?"

"Yeah, really."

Even more smiles. More hugs and he watches his father stiffen in unfamiliar embraces before softening and then his cousins are crawling all over him.

He hears his grandmother say "¿Cuanto tiempo para que le pongas un anillo al niño?" to Lance and that's _enough_.

No. This isn't happening. Not in this reality. He's in an alternate timeline. It's all just coincidences and he's not…

He drops his helmet on the ground and runs off, slamming right into Adam.

"Oof, Griffin!" Adam yelps, "I'm sorry, are you okay? I was on the other side of the base and I was running to see if it was really, wait–are you crying?" Adam has his hands on James’ shoulders, holding him steady.

James rubs his eyes. "It's a goddamn fucking Hallmark reunion out there, everyone's crying. Iverson's crying."

Adam shakes his head. "No, they're not crying like this, what is happening?"

"Please, just let me go Commander Wilhelm. I need to get to my bunk."

Adam hugs him.

James hugs back, and spins him around, shoving him towards the door and bolting.

He hears Adam shout "Griffin, wait!" towards him as he rounds the corner and pauses, catching his breath just long enough to hear Adam again. His voice is softer now, a little broken, a little something else.

"T-Takashi?!"

 

*

 

_"James, why are you crying?"_

_"Jim, talk to us, we're right here."_

"That's the problem!" James shouts. "You're here!"

Lance and Keith look at him from the house he grew up in.

 _"We just landed, didn't we?"_ Keith says.

James nods.

 _"Chiquito,"_ Lance wrings his hands, fidgeting with his gold wedding band. _"You know if we… if the Keith and Lance there now knew who you really are they'd–"_

"You'd what? I can't touch you! I can't hug you or play with Kosmo or–" James hiccoughs.

He can't have a secret conversation in Spanish with Lance while they prep dinner and he can't crawl into Keith's lap and make him read a book with his soft, rumbly voice putting him to sleep. He'll never have that again. He just has these two adolescents his age giving each other loving looks and keeping their distance from him.

"I'm not in an alternate reality, am I?"

Lance stills. _"No, you're in the past. Almost twenty years,"_ Keith says, crossing his arms.

"I'm never coming back, am I?"

_"Jim, you are absolutely coming back. Trust us, we have a plan and you'll know when it's time."_

"I-I can't," James wipes his face. "I'll call you back another time, there's a meeting and–I can't do this."

His parents nod, and the connection closes.

 

*

 

James knows he's staring. At the way they hold hands everywhere. At how their grip tightens and loosens but doesn't let go.

At how nobody blinks an eye that they're in the same room. With a single bed.

The only time they're not joined at the hip is when he intercepts Keith and Uncle Hunk trying to sneak out. He knows better than trying to stop either of them, so he might as well help them not get killed.

There's a moment when it's just the two of them in the car, before Hunk joins, when he takes in how much Keith has grown.

It's not just the longer hair, the broader frame or that angry red scar cutting his profile. He's calmer now.

"Your number one fan finally give you a night off?" he says to Keith, it's almost a reflex.

Keith blinks, looking at him with confusion.

"Do you not remember saying that to me? About _Taylor?_ "

Keith squeezes his eyes shut. "I'm never gonna live that one down, am I?"

James shakes his head. "You most definitely are not. I'm surprised Lance forgave you for that."

Keith laughs. "He hasn't."

He furrows his brow, but now Hunk's ready and they're off to see if they can scout out his family.

 

*

 

He doesn't call his parents after they infiltrate the base.

He doesn't call after they take down the cannons and they defeat Sendak.

He just whistles low in the dead of the night and hugs Kosmo until he falls asleep.

 

*

 

He's walking by the infirmary halls, him and Adam talking about how strange it feels.

"Like I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop," James takes a deep breath. "I guess it's my nature."

Adam laughs, "You've got some walls up there, Griffin."

James smirks. "You talk to Captain Shirogane yet? Beyond the polite nodding and pretending not to stare when you think he's not looking?"

"Dunno, you ever gonna tell me the truth about how you got that note?"

"I still have my ukulele stashed away in my bunk. I'm pretty sure I can dig up the tabs for _In Your Eyes,_ or some other cheesy 80's love song if you wanna serenade him?"

"James Tiberius Griffin!" Lance's voice cuts across the hallway. "Get in here!"

James freezes, realizing he'd walked right into the wing where the Paladins are. He's in front of Keith's room, in fact. Lance is sitting on the edge of the bed, waving James inside. Keith has his arms crossed in his usual defensive pose.

He enters the room carefully. Last time, he caught a glimpse of his grandmom Krolia skulking around, and she gave him a look like Keith told her every shitty thing he'd done to him in the past.

"Hey, settle an argument for us?" Lance asks.

James spins on his heels. "Nope, not getting involved. No way."

"Wait, I have a question," he hears Keith grunting as he tries to sit himself up. Lance is trying to reach over but his arms are all bandaged so he has trouble bending them, he's wincing with pain, and James sighs, waving him off.

"Lance stop, let me do that," James says walking towards Keith.

Best laid plans of avoidance and cowardice crumble away. He's at Keith's side, propping up his pillows so he can comfortably sit up, and he somehow avoids looking him directly in the eyes.

"Your middle name is Tiberius?" Keith gives him a strange look. "How did I not know that?"

James rolls his eyes. "Only known each other since we were _ten_ , really Keith? You're this bad with names? It's Patches all over again."

"Oh, like you know my middle name." Keith grumbles.

James raises an eyebrow. "Your middle name is _Akira_. Keith Akira Kogane."

Lance huffs. "Pfft, see? You're so obtuse, Keith."

"If I'm obtuse, what does that make you?" Keith snaps.

" _Acute_ , I mean, look at this mug," Lance winks and gives him finger-guns. "Wouldn't you say I'm a cute?"

James shudders inside and tries for an annoyed scoff.

Keith glares at him, kicking Lance's side with his foot for attention. "Whatever, it's a weird name. Tiberius."

"It's a Star Trek reference, pumpkin. If you paid attention to anything culturally important _ever_."

"Ugh, and now this? I can't believe you're still mad about it."

"Of course I'm still mad about it! I'll _die_ mad about it!"

James pinches the bridge of his nose. "Oh my god. You're fighting about the Taylor thing again, aren't you?"

"Yes!" the both of them shout.

 

*

 

James calls his parents after that.

"You two... are so fucking dumb!"

Keith laughs and Lance drops his coffee cup.

_"James Tiberius! Language!"_

_"Yeah, watch your fucking mouth, Jimbo."_

 

*

 

The advantage of Keith and Lance currently being in a fight, is they're not making goo-goo eyes over one another, so James can keep from wanting to run screaming out of the building.

The disadvantage is Lance is once again his shadow, now accompanied by Veronica so they can eat meals together and argue in Spanish.

"¡Ay dios mio, que tonto! Tell my brother he's being an idiot, would you Griffin?"

"...They're both idiots."

"Hey!" Lance gasps, and Veronica cackles.

"I'm informally adopting him into our family, by the way," Veronica says to Lance. "Mom said we kind of have to because he figured out her big secret tres leches recipe just by tasting it."

"Oh my god, you have to tell me! Please, please, please?" Lance begs.

James covers his mouth with a coffee cup to hide the smile that he can't help at the sight of his dad begging him to tell him that grandma McClain uses store-bought cake mix and cinnamon.

 

*

 

"Hey!" he smiles opening the connection and then his face drops.

James looks at his parents. His father's arms are crossed and his dad is idly tapping on a data pad. They're sitting as far apart from each other as they possibly can. Both Kosmo and all the couch pillows are between them.

"What happened?" James sighs.

_"Jim, it's–"_

Lance doesn't even look up from his tablet. _"Tú papi piensa que soy un idiota."_

Keith throws his hands up over his head, sinking back on the couch. _"Great, first the silent treatment, and now this."_

James worries his lip. "Dad, I'm sure he doesn't–"

 _"_ _No quiere escuchar a nada de lo que tú Tio Hunk o Slav dijeron sobre interferir con los eventos! El piensa que soy un_ **_idiota_ ** _que no se hubiera enterado de lo que hizo."_

_"Okay, you can stop calling me an idiot now."_

_"Dios mio, why haven't you learned Spanish already!? We've been married for 18 years!"_ Lance puts down his tablet and turns to Keith, arms gesturing wildly.

_"I don't need to! I know enough to know when you two are talking about me!"_

_"God forbid you_ **_try_ ** _and maybe connect more with your half-Cuban son or because you give a damn about your Cuban husband or anything like that!"_

 _"Oh, is that implicit permission to run my quarter-_ **_Galra_ ** _son through the Trials of Marmora? Because I–"_

_"That isn't even what I was trying to say!"_

"I can… call back later…"

Keith sucks in a breath. _"No, just… Hit the button and count to three, okay Jim?"_

James nods, reaching forward and hesitating for a minute as the argument starts up again.

 _"You put an envelope_ **_coated_ ** _in flu germs in–"_

 _"I had to try_ **_something_** _! I couldn't just let him–"_

He closes the connection. Counts to three, and presses the button again.

They're eating breakfast. His dad is smiling as he finishes his story.

_"... and it just goes off in Matt's face, like poof! Glitter everywhere!"_

_"I can't believe he keeps falling for that one,"_ his father laughs and tosses a piece of too-burnt bacon over his shoulder, James watches as Kosmo jumps up to grab it mid-air.

James breathes a sigh of relief. "You two make up?"

 _"Oh, no. I'm still furious about what your father did,"_ his dad says, stealing a piece of bacon back for himself. _"Absolutely livid."_

 _"And I've done nothing wrong so I have nothing to apologize for,"_ his father shrugs. _"We'll work it out."_

"So, are you just like, taking a break from the fight?"

 _"World keeps on spinning, Jim,"_ Keith sips his coffee. _"Nothing's gonna make me stop loving your dad."_

 _"Aw, pumpkin,"_ Lance pinches Keith's left cheek as he groans. _"Love you too."_

_"See, he calls me pumpkin when he's only half-mad. Yesterday it was 'muffin', and the day before it was 'cupcake'. The sweeter the food, the angrier he is."_

_"I'm cooling down. Probably have one or two big screams left in me before I go tattle on him to the others."_

_"Allura's probably gonna toss me across the room,"_ Keith pouts.

_"You deserve it, peanut."_

"What do you call him when you're done being mad?"

_"Coffee bean."_

James furrows his brow. "Why's that?"

Lance raises an eyebrow, _"You really wanna know?"_

James sticks out his tongue. "Not when you're making _that_ face. Ew."

 

*

 

Keith is up against all the doctors orders and hitting a sack of food as a makeshift punching bag. He hopes it's something soft, like flour.

James sighs, interrupting Keith who turns and there's blood on his knuckles.

"I was hoping that was a bag of flour or rice at the very least."

"It's rice," Keith says, and then points to the scuffs and bloody scrapes on the wall. "Took me a while to find it, is all."

"They sent me to make you go back to the infirmary."

Keith breathes out, "Few more minutes."

"You gonna clean the blood off the wall?"

"... What do you want, James?"

James bites his lower lip. Maybe he's not supposed to interfere. Maybe this is the moment he does McFly himself out of existence.

"I want you to come take a walk with me, not back to the infirmary, somewhere else."

James turns and starts walking, not caring to see if Keith is following.

His footsteps quickly catching up are enough.

James walks them to one of the old empty classrooms. Sometimes he makes his calls in them, but not tonight. He motions over to one of the windows looking over the old quad. James points at two people sitting on a bench out in the quiet of the night. Their heads are lowered, talking to each other, subtle gestures with their hands and faces give away that it's not the most pleasant conversation.

Keith looks down. "Is that Shiro and... Adam?"

James nods.

"Y'know, my _real_ parents, they'd fight like you and Lance."

"The family you had before the Griffins?"

"The Griffins are dead," James says simply. Part of the larger funeral they had for all the fallen when the world started to crumble. He'd grieved, said his thanks to the powers in the universe that allowed him to be a part of that small, loving family, even for only a portion of his life.

"I'm sorry."

"Second set of parents I've been through, I guess, maybe that's why I took it easier this time?" James shrugs. He doesn't look at Keith, doesn't want that pity stare now that he knows he's been broken twice. "Congrats on finding your mom, by the way."

"Thanks."

"You still have that cool dagger?"

"We trade it off. She's got it for now," Keith puts his fingertips on the window pane. Adam and Shiro are standing now, their body language is closed off.

"What did you bring me here to say, really?" Keith asks. "There's something you're not telling me."

James blinks slowly. "Back in the Garrison, when you got upset I was hanging around Lance, I decided to interfere. I thought he… might have liked you. And I knew you liked him. I didn't want you two ending up together."

"What?" Keith says in a rasp, voice breaking with anger, or maybe shock?

"Lance is too good for you," James says. "He's funny and kind and caring and giving and he wears his heart on his sleeve, and you make _fists_ , Keith. You were always angry and weird and solved problems by punching them and you were so intensely awkward and socially ten steps behind. I thought you didn't deserve someone as good as Lance. I didn't want you near my friend."

"Real uplifting speech here," Keith grumbles.

"The day I met you in the home, you had blood and dirt and grass stains on your hands. That's why I didn't want you touching my stuffed hippo, I thought whatever you had would stain the most important thing I had left in my life," James clears his throat, "but you fought that big dumb kid with the boxcutter, came back bloody and bruised, and Patches was clean. I never figured out how you managed that."

Keith shrugs. "I dunno. I was careful, I guess?"

Below them, Shiro is staring at Adam's hand, he's holding it out. Tentatively, he lifts the strange, floating prosthetic and takes it. They shake hands quickly, simply. Like two colleagues greeting one another.

_World keeps on spinning, Jim, nothing's gonna make me stop loving your dad._

"Huh?" Keith asks. James must have said that out loud.

"My parents had this fight, one time. And that's what my father told me when I asked if they were still mad," James watches along with Keith as Adam and Shiro nod to each other, and walk off in opposite directions.

"Were they still mad?"

"Livid. But they were laughing and letting the wo–dog eat bacon and, I dunno. My parents are kind of idiots for each other. Or they were, I guess. They wouldn't ignore a problem, they'd fight it out until it was done, but they wouldn't let it stop them from being stupid and in love."

Keith swallows, fingers curling against the window pane.

"I want something like that," Keith whispers.

"Then get over your _shit_ , before he figures out he can do so much better," James sighs. "You make him like, stupidly happy, and–"

Keith gasps, interrupting James at the sight of two raindrops hitting the window.

"Huh," James looks up at the clouds in the sky, "is it raining?" The drops suddenly hit the window harder as it starts to pour down. "Whoa! Guess that answers my–Keith?" he feels a quick clap on his shoulder and turns to see Keith taking off down the hall.

"Thanks, Jim!" Keith is shouting, running down the hall.

"Okay, you can have _one_ , Pops," James mutters under his breath. He turns back to the windows with a smile, watching as they fog up from the rain. He breathes against the glass and doodles with his fingertip. Writes his initials, peace signs, weird curvy nonsense squiggles.

He watches for a few minutes more until he sees two new figures running out to the quad. A boy with messy dark hair tugging along another boy with a Cheshire smile and soft brown hair, so similar to his own. They're running around like giddy kids in the rain, arms outstretched, stomping barefoot in puddles and splashing each other.

He stops seeing two kids when Keith says something to Lance that makes him freeze, and cover his mouth with his trembling hands. They talk some more, and Keith is dropping to one knee, and James gasps now, hands covering his mouth.

 

*

 

James is five and a half when Uncle Shiro and Uncle Adam get married.

"Took long enough," his father says, squeezing his hand. "Good job, Jimbo."

"I'm a ring bear! Raaawr!"

"Best ring bear ever!" his father ushers him forward gently. "Hold still so the nice photographer can take a ridiculous amount of pictures of you, okay?"

James goes and stands where the photographer asks him, keeping his father in eyeshot and earshot.

His dad bounces over, wrapping arms around his father's neck and kissing his scarred cheek long and hard.

"Ew! Daddy!" James covers his eyes. The photographer clears his throat in annoyance.

"Ay, sorry chiquito, second tequila means I'm contractually obligated to make sure your father gets all the smooches."

"I will dutifully accept them," his father drops his voice. "Just keep the hands above the belt, okay? I promised Shiro," he whispers thinking James can't hear them.

"Aww, are you two gonna get married too?" one of Adam's older relatives asks.

His dad laughs, holds up a hand and his father does the same, showing off their matching gold rings. "Been married almost 14 years now, thanks."

"Oh! I didn't mean to assume, you both look so young!"

"Well, we got married kind of young, I guess?"

"I'm impulsive," his father says with a shrug. "It was raining, first rain we'd seen in forever, right around the end of the invasion, yeah? We were having this dumb fight, but I dragged him outside anyway."

"No jacket, no shoes. God, we got so sick right after," his dad laughs, swaying on his feet, the arms around his father keeping him steady. "But it was totally worth it to feel the rain after so long. My man knows me so well."

"We were soaking wet and laughing and I just decided, I didn't know how long he wanted to wait, but I told him I'd marry him whenever he wanted to."

"I made him get down on one knee and ask me proper," his dad nuzzles the back of his father's neck. "I'm fussy like that."

"He's too good for me, I gotta make sure I keep him happy so he doesn't figure it out."

"Keeeith! Stop saying that!" his dad whines and the photographer finally lets him go, and he runs towards his parents, arms outstretched.

 

*

 

"Now you're idiots with pneumonia. Congratulations," James smirks at his parents on the comm.

_"Engaged idiots."_

_"Don't tell anyone yet. I'm about to get an earful from your grandmom. She's gonna hate that Lance didn't ask her for permission."_

"Is that why I was almost named Yoralivan?"

His father laughs. _"Serious note though, James."_

James stiffens. When his father uses his name like that he means it.

_"Do not drink the tequila."_

His dad nods. _"Trust us. Ignore whatever your Aunt Veronica says. Stay away from it."_

"I don't even drink, well not much. But also, we don't even  _have_ any tequila?" James says.

His father crosses his arms, eyes flashing yellow and giving him a chill.

_"Do not. Drink. The tequila. I'm serious James Tiberius."_

"You got it."

 

*

 

"Fuck you all! I'm half-Cuban, I can handle my tequila! See?" James says when he comes up for air after drinking straight from the bottle while Veronica cackles insanely.

"Aww, that was a sip!" she snags the bottle and counts down three full seconds of drinking. "Ahh, mother's milk. Refreshing and pure."

"Gimme!" James takes the bottle, a deep breath, and goes for five seconds. He then shouts along with the rest of the room and the music starts blasting again.

Best engagement/we saved the freaking world party, _ever._

*

He wakes up face down, feeling like death and he'd really like the room to stop being so spinny. He wants orange juice.

He _really_ wants orange juice.

James lifts his head and puts his fingers in his dry mouth, and somehow manages a whistle. Kosmo is in his room, licking his face.

"Nnngh, staaaahp," he whines, then grabs the wolf by the muzzle.

"Kosmo, listen to me. Orange juice. Bring me orange juice. I don't care if you have to go fifty years in the past or the future, I need orange juice. I will actually _fucking_ die if I don't get it. You understand me?"

Kosmo yips.

"Go get it!"

He blinks out and in, returning with a pitcher of beautiful, life-saving orange goodness on the floor between his front paws.

"Dios mio, best wolf ever, I love you," James almost cries, falling to the floor with a thud and crawling over to the juice, drinking it straight from the pitcher.

"Holy fuck, don't ever tell my parents they were right about the tequila. The fuck is wrong with me?"

Kosmo makes a curious whinging sound.

"I blame Dad for this. I should've remembered how sloshed he got on the stuff at Uncle Adam and Uncle Shiro's wedding. All slobbery and smoochy on Pops, like _you_ , only not. Less blue and pointy and bark-y. Maybe it's a genetic defect he passed on to me? Y'know I'm gonna blame Aunt Pidge for not saving me from that with her mighty mitochondria. Powerhouse of the cell my _ass_."

James hears a cough from behind him. Looking around more, he realizes he's not in his room.

He's in one of the common areas of the Garrison base.

"Oh fuck," James says. "I can't. Monologue with my head. Thoughts out loud. God, fuck you tequila!"

The cougher slowly walks around him. Shiny shoes. Garrison uniform pants, his eyes travel upwards and–

"Oh thank god, it's just Uncle Adam, and not one of my parents! Phew!"

Adam's eyes get wider.

"I'm still talking out loud, aren't I?"

Adam nods.

"Um," James swallows another gulp of juice, "y'want some OJ?"

 

*

 

James is vaguely aware of being lead down a hallway and past the mess hall he hears the familiar sound of Keith and Iverson arguing.

"I said I don't know _how_ he got it! And I didn't send him into your room, _sir_."

"Then how do you explain the fact that he just popped into my bunk with this?!" Iverson holds up the almost-empty pitcher of orange juice that James was drinking from.

"I don't know?"

"Oh, don't play that with me, Kogane! You must think I'm some kind of idiot? Well I'm not falling for the same prank you pulled when you were a Cadet!"

"This again? I never stole your damn orange juice in the first place!"

James starts laughing uncontrollably as Adam shoves him towards the elevators.

 

*

 

"If my parents knew about the ungodly amount of coffee you just made me drink, they'd never let you babysit again," James says, stumbling on his feet and leaning on the wall for support.

Adam is in his old office, he took it in lieu of a bunk in the Garrison base to help save space. It looks smaller with all the boxes of overflow supplies being stored, and the makeshift cot in the corner.

He's at his desk, and James flops down on a chair in front of him. Adam holds up the blank card he gave him about four years earlier. It's sealed in plastic.

"Did you know this thing is crawling with bacteria from a very mild flu strain?"

James wants to shake his head but, ugh, dizzy. "Not when I gave it to you."

"I figured that much when you touched it as well. It's not a new strain, mind you. An older one. One that the Garrison wouldn't have vaccinated for that year. And the date, literally the day before–" Adam pauses, eyes closing and he pinches his nose.

"My Pops told me to trust him," James murmurs.

"Who, Griffin? Tell me his name, already."

Ugh. Everything hurts.

"Okay… You can't tell anyone. Because of the butterflies."

"I'm getting you more coffee," Adam starts to stand, James holds up his hand.

"Okay stop, stop. I'm sobering up, I'm just exhausted I wanna be lazy, hold on," James puts his index finger and thumb in his mouth and whistles for Kosmo, who appears by his side.

Adam's mouth drops open. "Did you just call the space wolf here?"

James nods, "Pops trained him to respond to my whistle."

"What whistle?"

James smiles. "It's a very specific tone, he knows who to go to depending on the sound, even if it's just like, air being blown out. Good for stealth," he turns to Kosmo, "go get Patches. Carefully, by one of the legs okay? Should be under my bed."

Kosmo yips and blinks out and in again, this time with a worn stuffed hippo in his mouth that he hands to James. His hand hovers over the button hidden on the bottom tooth.

"Can I have like a minute alone, first?"

Adam crosses his arms. "Not letting you out of my sight until you explain this 'Uncle' Adam nonsense."

"Fuck, he's gonna be so mad," James takes a deep breath and presses the button. The video screen appears in mid-air. Keith's angry face is there, his arms crossed over his chest and eyes furious Galra yellow and purple.

_"James Tiberius, what did I say?"_

"Don't drink the tequila," James mumbles, hanging his head.

_"What did you do?"_

"I drank the tequila."

Keith takes a deep breath, _"Go throw up."_

"I'm fine."

_"No, you're sweating. Did someone give you coffee? You know how sensitive you are to caffeine. Go throw up, I'll talk to Adam."_

James nods, looking past the video screen to where Adam is staring with a mix of shock and fascination, his hand clapped over his mouth.

"My father wants to talk to you, I'm gonna go throw up," he says, leaving Patches on the desk and letting Kosmo help him shuffle off to the bathrooms.

 

*

 

James moans after his body finishes rejecting everything in his stomach _ever_ , curling up on his side on the bathroom floor, whimpering. At least the tiles are cool on the side of his face. That feels nice, he blinks sleepily.

"Fuck tequila," he groans.

Someone else in the room groans back.

Was there someone else in the stalls? No, the shuffling is coming from the communal showers. There's scuffed boots, laces only half done and a pair of lanky legs in his vision. They fold down and Lance drops bonelessly to the floor as well, his head soaking wet.

"You said it pal, _fuck_ tequila," Lance sighs. "And fucking Veronica! She got like, all the tolerance I was supposed to, I think."

James almost laughs but that's too much of a strain. "Veronica's a demon."

"At least you didn't have to get babysat by her, she'd throw a blanket on my head and tell me to go to sleep like I was a bird or something," Lance smiles. "You okay?" he tilts his head.

"Yeah, I'm doing great," James says from where he's lying prone on the bathroom floor in a fetal position. "I'm gonna go run a 5k and do 300 pushups after this. Feeling amazing."

"Same, hey let's go sign up for an iron-man while we're at it?" Lance laughs and then stops. "Oh god, I wanna run my head under the cold water again, I crave the sweet release of death."

"The floor tile is nice. Feels good," James says with a hum.

Next thing he knows, Lance is on the floor next to him cheek on the tile as well. "Fuck you're right, this is amazing. I'm gonna live here forever."

James chuckles into the floor, then pauses. "Language, mister."

"Fuck off, I'm dying."

"You can't die, you just got engaged," James smirks.

"Oh fuck, yeah that's right," Lance sighs happily. "My fiancé can come drag my hungover ass outta here and take care of me. Where is my fiancé?"

"Caught in the logic loop of explaining the disappearing and reappearing orange juice trick to Iverson."

"I _still_ don't know how he pulled that one off," Lance grins. "Hey James, d'you still have your uhh, yoo-key-lay-lay?"

"My what?" Lance does a little mimic of an air guitar. "Ohh, my ukulele. Yeah I have it… somewhere…"

"Not right now," Lance says. "But like, can I borrow it? I wanna do something cute for the wedding. Maybe play a little cover song for Keith. All sappy and stuff. _Can't Help Falling In Love_ , that's a good one."

James frowns. "Only if you promise me that if you and Keith ever have a kid, and they like, _accidentally_ smear two jars of vaseline all over the furniture because they mistake it for polish, you'll go easy on them?"

"Okay, _random._  We're still drunk, aren't we?"

"Fucking tequila, and yeah I'll think about it."

"Ugh, devil's liquor. Never again."

Footsteps approach, it's Keith this time.

"Hey, fiancé!" Lance tries to lift his arm but fails. "Come lay next to me and rub my head and tell me I'm pretty."

"Gross, save it for the money-hoon, hummy-moon, honey-thing," James starts to drift.

Keith pinches the bridge of his nose, "Lance, that floor is disgusting, get up."

Lance groans. "But the floor is my friend."

James gets a wicked idea. "Tú prometido nunca te amará como tú amas el piso."

"Yeah, pero ya le dije a mis padres y deje que Krolia casi me acuchillara, así que me voy a casar con Keith."

"Is this like a thing now? You two are gonna talk about me and my Mom in Spanish so I don't know what you're saying?"

"Well why don't you just learn Spanish?" James grins, lifting himself up as Keith leans down to help Lance stand.

Keith growls. "Well maybe, I will!"

Lance chuckles. "Bye floor-friend!" he says as Keith helps him stumble to the door. They pause, and Keith looks over his shoulder.

"Hey, if you see my wolf, can you tell me?"

James blinks. Kosmo was there a few moments ago, wasn't he? He shuffles slowly back to Adam's office.

 

*

 

Adam is still talking with his father, but he looks a bit calmer.

"Multiple timelines, string theory, I mean, it makes sense. It's still a lot to process."

 _"I lived for two years in a quantum abyss, I have them all swirling around my head. Everytime I pivot in a new direction, things unfold and I see all these new possibilities, but I still remember all the ones from before. You adapt to thinking of time and space as being flexible."_ Keith pets Kosmo from the other end of the video feed. _"Jim can show you, call Kosmo back?"_

James whistles and Kosmo vanishes from the video and appears at his side. He kneels on the floor, burying himself in Kosmo's fur, smelling slightly his parent's house and his dad's home cooking. Damn, he's doing bacon-wrapped potatoes. James's stomach lurches, somehow he both wants and doesn't want food ever again.

"Amazing," Adam whispers.

_"He exists inside and outside of time. It's how he knows Jim, even though he hasn't been born yet."_

"Schrödinger's space wolf?" Adam laughs.

 _"Sure,"_ Keith laughs, _"Adam, I know I could have saved more of your squad that day. Or I could have done nothing. What I did… was selfish."_

Adam nods, "Yeah, I'm betting I can't ever say no to babysitting for you in a pinch for the rest of time."

_"That's not why I did it."_

Adam holds up a hand. "I know, Keith. But I'm not ready to even start going down that rabbit hole just yet. One life-altering, reality-shattering revelation at a time, please?"

Keith nods. _"You'll keep this all a secret though, right?"_

"You sent your son to the past through a wormhole and he grew up to help save the Earth from alien invaders, and you think I'm _not_ gonna tweet that shit?"

Keith laughs. _"Thank you, Adam. I should go, dinner's almost on. And James?"_

"Mmm?" James picks his head up.

_"You're punished."_

"You can't punish me, you're in the future."

 _"Uncle Adam can though."_ The video cuts out and James groans, hugging Kosmo closer.

"Fuck," James whines.

"Watch that language, future _nephew_."

 

*

 

The world keeps spinning, and things outside of the Garrison are changing quickly. The wedding is happening faster than James realizes. Both Keith and Lance are eager to get the ceremony done before any other threats suddenly appear.

The other MFEs are enjoying the more relaxed schedule, but James is still on edge.

Mostly because Lance is in his bunk, lounging lazily on his bed, trying to figure out how to play his ukulele.

"It's just kind of, scaled down, but the chords are still there, y'know?"

Lance bites his lip as he fumbles the G-chord. "I think my fingers are too big. I can't hit it right."

"They are not, you just have no patience."

"I know!" Lance moans, "I just wanna be married already! Ugh!" he falls back down on James's bed, throwing a pillow over his head.

James shouldn't pry. He takes back his ukulele, idly strumming and making sure it's tuned right.

"Why aren't you? You don't need a big fancy anything, right? Everyone's family is already here. There's enough military officials that could do the ceremony."

Lance mumbles something.

"What's that?"

Lance takes the pillow off his face. "Rings. We keep talking about a way we could get rings. My dad said I could use his and my mom's wedding bands, but like, I can't explain it. Keith and I were talking about if there was something else. Something we could make that's just ours."

James pauses, looking at inscription the Griffins had etched onto the back of his ukulele.

_To our beloved son James Tiberius_

He runs his finger over the words, remembers kind smiles and happy nights spent singing songs and drinking cocoa by a fireplace in a cozy house. It's forever imprinted there, memories and experiences just for him alone. Ones that made him the person he is today.

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense."

"Maybe we could find some spare parts from the lions. Melt them down. Krolia offered to find us some luxite blades but I'm a little worried it's gonna involve some bloodletting or scarification."

"What does Keith think?"

"He's on a warpath right now. Someone looted his old shack and stole this fireproof box or something. It had a lot of stuff he said had sentimental value and he's furious at the thought of it being trashed or sold for scrap."

James's eyes widen.

 

*

 

That night he opens the firebox, and takes out his grandpa's gold ring.

It reminds him of the color of the twin wedding bands his parents wear.

He takes a last look through the photos. He carefully closes the box, lifts up the handle, Kosmo takes it between his teeth. He vanishes with a blink.

 

*

 

Lance grabs him in the hallway before breakfast.

"I want it to rain garlic knots."

James tilts his head.

"What? Lance did you get back into the tequila?"

"Just testing something."

"Lance, I need breakfast, please let me go."

"Fine. Ukulele lessons after? I've only got two days left now!" Lance smiles.

"Seriously? The date's set?"

"Yeah, we had a bit of good luck. By the way, stay away from any of the basement labs today. Pidge and Keith are on an epic smelting adventure. She's all giddy and doing the opening of _Fellowship_ -style narration for everything."

"You guys found some good scrap metal or something?"

Lance nods as they both grab trays of food and settle down like back in their Garrison days when they'd have lunch. Same table and all. "Is it weird we're not doing a bachelor party or anything?"

"I think your liver is grateful for that reprieve."

"Don't tell Veronica, she'll organize one anyhow. We're trying to cut her off at the pass. The whole family isn't telling her until the day of."

"Good luck," James says finishing off his juice and starting up on the bland almost-oatmeal they've been subsisting on.

"Hey, there's something I wanted to ask you about, like a serious thing," Lance chews his lip, "but like, you can tell me to fuck off and I'll drop it. If it's me being insensitive, or whatever."

James shrugs. "I mean, you can ask me, sure?"

"It's about your parents, not the Griffins. Your parents before them, or I dunno, I guess your real parents–ahh forget it, I know it's too personal."

James worries his mouth. "No, it's fine, just maybe, not in public like–"

"Lance! You're seriously getting married and I can't even throw you a teeny-tiny bachelor party?" Veronica slides into the seat next to him. "Why do you hate me? Why do you hate happiness?"

"Why do you hate me having a functional liver?"

James sits back as the siblings banter and scarfs down his breakfast as quickly as possible.

 

*

 

"So, the stuff you wanted to ask me?" James says when they're outside, he's strumming away, trying to get the tabs right for the song Lance wanted. They have to do it from memory, and it's still a little wobbly.

"You grew up with two dads, yeah?"

"Ah," James nods, "yeah, I did. You know I was joking about that future kid stuff, right?"

"Duh, I've seen _Back to the Future_ ," Lance shoves his hands in his pockets. "I was just wondering, I guess about their dynamic? Like, how did they know who you were talking to when you said 'dad'?"

"When I was little, one was 'Daddy' and one was 'Papa'. When I got a little older, it was 'Dad' and 'Pops'."

"Right, but it never got confusing?"

"Not when it's like, the thing you grew up with?"

"Makes sense. I know with my niece and nephew that kids need consistency."

"Yeah, Dad always cooked. Mostly because Pops could set the microwave on fire by looking at it. He lost kitchen privileges for a week when he burned Spaghettios and broke a saucepan," James grins, and starts a new song.

Lance smiles back at him. "What else?"

"Well Dad always got on me for swearing and correcting my grammar. ' _Language,_ chico' or 'Es lobo grande not grande lobo' y'know, that kind of stuff."

"Geez, picky much?"

James laughs. "And Pops and I would get him back, he'd say like 'Listen to your dad Jim, watch your _fucking_ mouth' and Dad would make pterodactyl screeches."

"Did they ever get to do the 'Damn it Jim, I'm your father not a linguist!' joke?"

"No," James says glaring at the ground.

"Pfft, what's the point of naming you after Jim Kirk then?"

James just rolls his eyes. "They were gonna name me Yorrr...ell. Yorrell. I think it's Swedish?"

"Dang, dodged the bullet on that one," Lance sucks his teeth, "that's really pretty."

"Pretty what?"

"The song you've got going now," Lance says pointing to the ukulele. James must have slipped into one of his old standbys. "I like it."

"Oh, yeah it's uh, it's just what I play when I'm not really thinking."

"You know what, you're really good! Oh my god, _you_ should play at the ceremony!" Lance says. "I mean, would you?"

James had actually planned on digging up the old flu germ card from Uncle Adam's office or trying another way to fake sick. Attending his own parent's wedding was one thing, but actually participating?

"Uhhh..."

"Lance!" James is thankfully interrupted by Keith running towards them, he's got a pair of soot-covered goggles pushed up on his forehead, and his clothes have scorch marks and he smells like chemical burns but he happily thrusts his hand in Lance's face. "It worked!"

Two gold wedding bands lie in his palm. Lance and Keith embrace and James slinks away as quickly as he can.

 

*

 

"Can I come home now?" James asks, knowing the answer is still 'no' or 'not yet' or 'you'll know when'.

 _"Probably soon,"_ Keith says.

James sits up. His dad is half-sleeping with his head pillowed his father's lap.

"What?!"

_"Did we get married yet?"_

"Tomorrow's the big day."

_"Did you pour the tequila down the drain like I told you to?"_

"Aunt Veronica's making me do like 90 hours of simulator drills, but I think I saved Dad from alcohol poisoning."

His dad stirs. _"Mmm, we have the best kid, Keith pet my hair and tell me I'm pretty?"_

 _"You're pretty. Pet, pet,"_ Keith smirks as he pets Lance's head.

Lance starts humming a familiar tune.

 

*

 

" _If you're lost you can look, and you will find me..._ " his dad sings softly, spreading the peanut butter on the toast.

James follows along carefully on his guitar, hitting the wrong chord again and knocking his head against the back of his chair.

"Chiquito, it's okay. Keep going."

"My hands aren't big enough, the strings are too far apart," James groans, "it hurts my wrist."

His dad puts down the two slices of peanut butter and banana toast in front of them and smiles. "Someday they won't be. But in the meantime, maybe we could get you a smaller–"

"No! I wanna play the guitar like you!"

"Okay, we'll try again after lunch?"

James nods and puts the guitar to one side, his father walks in, taking one look at their lunch and wrinkling his nose in displeasure.

"You two and your peanut butter and banana obsession, I'm making soup," his father takes a can out of the pantry and stabs it open with his knife.

"Can I _please_ cook it for you? Oh dios mio, Keith don't break the microwave, we just got it."

"Should I check the smoke detector batteries?"

"Let's just call the fire department and tell them to be ready."

His father growls, pouring the soup into a microwave safe bowl and slamming it in, hitting a button and turning to face them with his arms crossed. "Ha, ha, very funny. There is literally a button that says 'soup', I'm not that–"

The microwave sparks, fizzles, pops, and then bursts into flames.

After the charred mess is safely removed from the house, Keith is self-exiled outdoors with a ham and cheese sandwich and whatever's left of his pride.

Lance turns to his son. "So, what did we just learn?"

"Use a can opener and not a knife so you don't leave little metal bits in your food and almost burn the house down?"

Lance nods. "And?"

James shrugs.

"We all have our limits. Don't be too proud to admit them."

James huffs. "Okay. Maybe I'll _try_ the ukulele?"

Lance squeezes his shoulder. "I'll dig it out of the attic tomorrow."

He never gets the chance, because that night a druid appears in James's bedroom, and almost kills him while he sleeps.

 

*

 

"I have my limits, and this is it," James says. "I'm not going. Just give Lance my ukulele to play, and tell him I said happy wedding, or whatever."

Veronica shakes her head, she's furious but she takes the instrument from him anyway. He's surprised she doesn't just break it over her knee, but she knows it's too important to her brother so she just walks off in a fury, her heels clacking angrily against the floor.

James heaves a sigh of relief as he falls back onto a bench in the main Garrison building. The window faces the courtyard where everyone's gathering.

He doesn't even whistle Kosmo over to keep him company, he's not that selfish.

"So you're really not going?"

James looks up to see Adam in his suit and tie.

"I've reached my limits of surreal things that I've had to deal with being time-displaced, and this is pretty much it."

Adam nods. "Your choice," he joins him on the bench. "Can I ask you something Griff–ah, James?"

"Sure."

"Am I… Am I a good Uncle?"

James smiles slowly. "You're my favorite."

"That's nice of you to say."

"No, I'm serious. You are absolutely my favorite Uncle. You tell me stories about my parents doing dumb stuff when they were younger, you make sure I get all the drumsticks when we get barbeque wings, and you let me read _you_ books. Y'know, encouraging me to read more on my own? I guess it's those old teacher instincts."

Adam laughs. "I'm your favorite because I give you drumsticks?"

"I hate the wings and the thighs, they have all those sinewy, stringy bits that get caught in my teeth."

Adam keeps laughing. James turns to him with a questioning look.

"Nothing just, sometimes I look at you and you're Cadet Griffin, but then you open your mouth and you're that kid who Keith–well _future_ Keith told me about."

"What did he say?"

"You're a fussy eater and I have to make sure you always have a granola bar on you, because you get super grouchy when you have low blood sugar. Also, I will lose my babysitting privileges if I ever give you coffee again."

"Yeah well, no one knows I drink decaf, so it's not your fault. And just so you know, in the future he sets two microwaves on fire and nearly burns our house down _twice_. So if he ever revokes your babysitting privileges, you can tell him to shove it."

They both laugh and James looks out over the small crowd milling about, guests sitting in makeshift rows.

"So, are you gonna keep me company, or just planning on arriving fashionably late sabotaging any plans for them to sit you next to Captain Shirogane?"

Adam coughs. "Fashionably late, and yes thank you very much."

"Wanna hear about how drunk my Dad gets at your wedding?"

"Okay maybe someone needs that granola bar."

"You know, I think they have Captain Shirogane officiating. You should just go grab a seat before you–" James stops mid-sentence.

Veronica is looking right at him. Holding his ukulele over her head.

Twisting the knobs.

"Oh no, she's gonna break a string. I don't have spares."

"Is she like this in the future too?"

"I don't know, I only see her on Thanksgiving–oh fuck, she was loosening them! She's pulling them off, I gotta go!"

 

*

 

James scowls as he carefully finishes re-threading his ukulele. "Of all the dirty, rotten, manipulative things, you know my _dead_ parents gave me this, right?"

"Now who's being manipulative?"

"It's not the same thing!"

Adam clears his throat, gently holding a granola bar up for him. James's stomach betrays him and starts to growl.

"Better not have raisins in it," James snarls as he snatches it away, rips off the wrapper and stuffs the entire thing in his mouth.

"Ugh, can you eat like a human being, please?" Veronica wrinkles her nose.

James sticks his tongue out, giving her an eyeful of partially chewed food. She covers her mouth and gags.

"Alright, I'm going–"

"Nope," Veronica says, pinning a flower to his street clothes. "I will owe you a favor."

"Don't care, not happening."

"I will owe you, _two_ favors."

"I do not. _Care_."

Veronica takes a deep breath.

"Do you know what Lance wanted to be when he was a little kid?"

"An astronaut. Jim Kirk, specifically."

"Yes. But before that, he wanted to be someone's husband, and someone's dad. He'd sneak into my room and we'd play with my dolls," Veronica pauses, "thank you for not laughing at that."

"Why would I?"

"I would. I still give him crap about that. This isn't the wedding he always dreamed of, thrown together with tape and spit, and built on the remains of a world that almost fell apart. I can't go back and give him the one he wanted. And we know waiting isn't an option anymore, since we're living on borrowed time here. Hell, the sky could open up and another one of those _things_ could come crashing down at any moment. Help me give my brother something before that happens, so I don't have to watch him lay down his life before he gets this one thing he's been wanting since he was a kid. You being here, playing music, it'll mean so much to him."

"I... don't know how to play the song he wanted."

"It's okay. Just play something sincere."

"I'm not the best singer."

"Spit and tape and off-key vocals. We'll make it work. If I know the words, I'll sing along with you."

James nods, the guests finally settling down, and he sits on a chair off to one side. His Aunt Pidge leans a microphone in close to him and gives him a smile and throws up the horns.

He closes his eyes, and starts softly strumming away. His voice wobbles, but he quietly starts singing through the uncertainty.

" _Lying in my bed, I hear the clock tick, and think of you…_ "

The crowd recognizes the song, picking up the vocals where he falters. Soon, he's just playing for them to sing along to, he feels more at ease with every note.

James turns during the chorus towards the makeshift altar. Lance has his hand over his heart, tears already running down his face, mouthing 'thank you' to him.

And Keith? He's staring at Lance.

And it's the same way his father stares at his dad across the dinner table when he's laughing or telling stories, right before he springs up and kisses him for no reason at all.

It's the way he'll never stop staring at him, with eyes full of fascination and love.

James decides that maybe Keith just needed some time to grow out of being that hotshot rebel jerk with a mean right hook.

And maybe he needed some time to grow out of the perfectionist show-off that refused to bend a single rule.

Maybe he's his father's son after all.

The song ends, everyone applauding and James goes to sit with Veronica and Adam for the rest of the ceremony.

 

*

 

His parents look at each other, tears in their eyes as they place gold rings on each other's fingers.

Lance hasn't stopped crying the entire time, and Keith's finally breaking now, voice quivering when he says 'I do' and completely _losing_ it when Lance repeats it back.

Veronica leans her head on his shoulder, "Thank you," she whispers, "I'm officially adopting you into the family now, okay?"

James rubs his eyes. "Only if I can call you Auntie Ronnie," he jokes.

"How much do you like your kneecaps, Jamey-James?"

"Shh," Adam says to the both of them, "this is my favorite part."

 

*

 

"Morning, coffee bean," Lance says, kissing his father, and then kissing him again, and again.

"Gross," James squeezes his eyes shut, picking up his cereal to go eat in the living room so he doesn't have to watch his parents be all lovey-dovey with each other.

"Jim!" Keith laughs, "Oh come on, we're not that bad, are we?"

"No, you're _worse_!" James says back as Kosmo trots along with him. "And why do you call him 'coffee bean'?"

"I'll tell you when you're older," Lance says out of the corner of his mouth. James rolls his eyes and leaves the kitchen as quickly as he can before whatever happens next.

(Keith getting up on his toes, kissing him deeper until Lance wraps his arms around him and lifts him up. Keith's legs around his husband's torso as Lance carries him upstairs, their lips still locked together, coffee cups forgotten and going cold on the kitchen table.)

James is much happier curling up on the couch with Kosmo and his cereal bowl in his lap, clicking around the holos until he finds a channel playing _Back to the Future II_.

 

*

 

James is mercifully spared from most of the post-ceremony stuff, and when they start talking about tossing a flower bouquet, he helps Adam make a quick escape, not trusting Veronica's wicked little grin.

Hunk's blushing ear to ear when it bounces off of someone's fingertips and lands on his head, Shay squeezing his hand and smiling.

 

*

 

Deactivating Sendak's old weapons manufacturing facilities is fairly routine by this point.

Until it's not.

Because one was built on top of Three-Mile Island.

James runs down to the core, but he's not fast enough, he whistles for Kosmo at his side and suddenly he's there, inside the reactor, red lights flashing danger, coloring the entire room and telling them to get out as quickly as they can.

"Adam! What are you doing in here? The radiation leaks on the scanners are concentrated here!"

"I know. And I'm going to stop it, manually activating the coolant pumps after the core starts to overheat," Adam turns to him with solemn eyes. "I'm sealing the room for safety."

"Safety of who?"

"Everyone else, I can contain the contaminants to just this room. The coolant will diffuse everything outside, you'll all be safe this way."

"No!" James shouts. "There's got to be another way!"

"There's not _time_ to find another way, and I'm not risking what's left of the entire east coast!" Adam slams his hands down on a console.

"But... " James feels his heart breaking. He thinks of his favorite uncle.

The way he looks on his wedding day.

The visits to their house, going up to the roof to look at the stars.

The look his father gets when he tells him how Shiro saved his life.

Shiro telling him the same, squeezing Adam's hand and smiling.

"James, I'm not supposed to be alive, I can do this. I can be the one who doesn't make it out, and things will be okay."

He grabs Adam and flips him over, shoving him outside the room. "I'm sorry, but you're _wrong_. You're supposed to be alive. I'm the one that's not supposed to be here," James swallows, "I'm the one you can afford to lose."

"James, no!" Adam shouts, scrambling to get back on his feet as James seals the door.

 

*

 

The room is warm and fire-red.

Kosmo is there at his side, whimpering as the radiation burns into his face, his lungs ache like they did when they were full of smoke and he wheezes each breath he can stand to take.

"Go, you have to go," James says to Kosmo, but he refuses to move. "Go to Keith. And Lance. I'll see you in a few years and–" he swallows down a sob. Kosmo shuffles closer, licking his face.

He knows James is scared to die alone.

"Okay," he rasps, it's getting harder to speak. "It's gonna be okay," he puts his hand on Kosmo's head and closes his eyes.

It's okay.

He's okay with this.

He's exactly where he's supposed to be.

 

*

 

There's a sound, a soft thunder clap and he looks up as a black and purple tear forms above him.

Strong arms, reaching out to pull him and Kosmo upward.

They vanish before the room explodes.

 

*

 

_"Have you thought of a name?" the attending asks as Keith and Lance hold their child for the first time._

_"James Tiberius," Lance says, wiping a tear from his eyes._

_"A cadet from the Garrison, he led the MFEs. And he saved us all more times than we could count."_

 

*

 

Allura's beatific smile.

Her voice a lilting melody. Her touch soft and full of unconditional love. Light emanating from the tips of her fingers. Her eyes sparkle with magic and sadness.

"You did it, both of you, just rest now."

James closes his eyes as it gets colder and colder and he hears a door close.

"It's time to get you home," he hears.

 

*

 

The bed seems bigger than it should be.

"Are you awake?"

James nods. What a long, strange dream he had. Now his brain is knitting itself back together, soft threads connecting his memories and dreams and sorting small things into compartments so he can find his way through the fog and blinding white lights.

"How many fingers?" the doctor comes into focus.

"Three."

"Where are you?"

"Earth?"

"How old are you?"

 _Twenty two_ , he thinks but he says "Ten."

"Where are your parents?"

"Home?"

"Can you tell me their names?"

"Keith Akira Kogane and Lance Alessandro McClain."

"Tell me your name."

"James Tiberius Kogane-McClain."

The doctor writes everything down.

"Do you know why you're here?"

He shakes his head.

"You had an infection. You've been in a medically induced coma for nearly three months."

"I have?"

"Yes, your organs were shutting down. We had to wait for a serum to be customized due to your, um, unique biology."

"Oh, I'm a quarter Galra."

"Yes, well. _That_."

"Are my parents here?" James looks to his side.

Patches is there, smiling their big toothy smile. James lifts a weak, pale hand to their face and feels around the bottom tooth. No button. He squeezes as hard as he can but nothing clicks.

"James, you have to take it easy, you've been completely comatose for a long time and–" the door swings open.

"James!"

"Jim!"

His parents are there. His dad is holding a small, blue puppy with yellow eyes and black sclera. His father wastes no time, detaching the IV's and lifting him up into his arms.

"Wait, you can't just–you have to stop!" the doctor sputters.

"He's awake, he has all his fingers and toes, he can come home and recuperate with his family," his father says curtly.

"He's got partial memory loss and brain damage from what happened! Not to mention the muscle atrophy and post-traumatic stress!"

His dad scoffs. "Doc, we both have PTSD, and I've died twice, once? Ahh can't remember."

"I lived in a quantum abyss for two years and have alternate realities playing out in my head every time I close my eyes."

"But the world keeps on spinning," James mumbles, hugging his father close and letting his eyes slip shut.

Kosmo yips and they disappear.

 

*

 

James is surrounded by family. His parents, aunts and uncles, and grandparents parading in and out of his bedroom. His body growing stronger, color returning to his skin, the dexterity returning to his hands and soon he's running around his backyard, teaching his puppy-wolf to fetch and plucking the strings of the rosewood ukulele his dad found in the attic.

"How do you deal with all the other memories?" he asks Keith as they sit in the grass, Kosmo is small enough to curl up in his lap and he's dreaming, kicking cute little puppy legs in the air.

"I just focus on the right ones, and I move forward."

"How do you know which ones are the right ones?"

Keith nods towards the house.

Uncle Hunk and Aunt Shay are lighting the grill, jumping away at the fireball that shoots up in the sky. Aunt Allura and Aunt Romelle are laughing at them as they slide cuts of meat and vegetables onto metal skewers.

Uncle Shiro is trying to lay down a tablecloth, but his Aunt Pidge is furiously clacking away at her laptop, so Shiro just lifts her up and sets her down on the other side so he can finish. Uncle Adam walks behind him and wraps his arms around his torso, kissing Shiro's cheek just like how his parents do.

Uncle Coran and Aunt Veronica are having some kind of drinking contest on the porch, and poor Veronica is starting to look green around the gills, rubbing her temples while Coran just puffs his chest and fluffs his moustache with whatever they're drinking.

Keith's gaze falls down to Lance as he exits the house, tray of sweet corn to roast on the barbeque that he sets near the grill. He looks across the yard to Keith and James, waving them over with a smile.

"Whichever ones bring me here, those are the right ones."

 

*

 

James is twelve. Home from school, and making himself a snack in the kitchen when he hears Kosmo growl, smells burning, and hears the crack of the air as the intruders begin to enter the room.

His instincts kick in immediately.

He's throwing the butter knife at the first druid before they even finish teleporting in, using the momentary distraction to reach for one of the emergency pistols under the kitchen sink, easily landing two shots right between their eyes. He shoots another over his shoulder, which takes care of the second one trying to jump him from behind. The third materializes just outside of the kitchen so he ducks the energy blast easily and slides into their feet, sending them stumbling forward. He slams the druid's hands down on the stovetop with a large metal saucepan and fires up the burners. Another blast to the back of the head ends the encounter.

James breathes out and grabs a clean knife from the drawer, finishes slicing up the bananas to put on his peanut butter toast, and looks around the room. He's _starving_ , he'll clean up the mess after he's had something to eat.

"Hey, we heard shots, is everything okay?" Keith asks walking into the kitchen. "Oh, only three this time?"

"M'fine," James says chewing, and says something unintelligible. Keith pours him a glass of milk to cleanse his palate.

"Thanks Pops. Said I'll clean up after I'm done? Forgot to get something to eat before band practice."

"Just don't spoil your dinner," Keith says, "I'll get the portal gun and take care of it."

"Take care of what?" Lance frowns at the sight of the kitchen as he walks in, stopping to ruffle James's hair affectionately before stepping over one of them to get to the pantry. "Huh, only three this time?"

James nods. "Is that good?"

"Could be we're thinning out their numbers more," Keith smiles as he sends the bodies through the portable wormholes to his Aunt Pidge's containment unit on the Atlas.

"Anyway, how was–" Lance's face drops and he turns to his son. "James Tiberius! What did we tell you about putting back empty peanut butter jars in the pantry?"

James swallows the last of his sandwich. "Umm, don't?"

Keith stands up on his toes, kissing Lance's cheek. "I love you, you know?"

"Okay, _random?_ Love you too, coffee bean."

James blinks, dropping his glass of milk. "Oh my god I just got it. _Gross_."

"Got what?"

"You call him 'coffee bean' because he's small, bitter and keeps you up all night."

Lance looks away, but nods. "Yeah, pretty much."

Keith flushes a slight pink, frantically changing the subject. "Hey! Enough of this, you explain the peanut butter thing that I actually don't care that much about, but I love your dad so I'm faking incredulity!"

Lance smirks. "Thank you! _James_?"

"I forgot to eat before band practice! I'm sorry!"

"What did you do with your granola bar?"

"Ugh, it had raisins."

"Well why didn't you say you don't want the ones with raisins? Dios mio, solo dime que no quieres comer esas y te comprare otra cosa. I'm not a mind reader, you know?"

Keith sits at the table, smiling, watching his husband and son go back and forth, his wolf sitting at his feet.

Everything's exactly how it should be.

 

 

This time.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Translations: Again, all the love and praise to the wonderful Dee aka [Nonbinary_Queen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonbinary_Queen)!!
> 
> General FYI: Lance switches between Chico/Chiquito as a term of endearment for his son.
> 
> **No asumas que no te escuché, no seas un sabelotodo conmigo ¡Yo inventé eso!**   
>  _Do not assume that I can't hear you, don't be a know-it-all with me, I invented that!_
> 
> **¿Qué bolá, chiquito?**  
>  _What's up, son?_ (Please read this is in the same tone of Nicki Minaj asking Miley what's GOOD for the full effect).
> 
> **Ta bien, no es nada**   
>  _It's good, no problem._
> 
> **¿Tú hablas español?**   
>  **Sí, uno de mis papis es de Cúba.**   
>  **¿Enserio? ¡Yo soy Cubano!**   
>  _You speak Spanish?_   
>  _Yes, one of my parents are from Cuba._   
>  _Seriously? I'm Cuban!_
> 
> **James! ¡Ay mijo! Mi vida, te amo, we missed you so much! Look how big you are! Prometeme me no dating until you're twenty-two, pero mi corazón no puede soportarlo! Are you eating enough?**  
>  _James! My son, My life I love you, we missed you so much! Look how big you are! Promise me no dating until you're twenty-two, because my heart can't stand it! Are you eating enough?_ (Lance is really frantic here and code-switching as such)
> 
> **Te juró que te vas a romper el cuello un día de estos**   
>  _I swear you'll break your neck someday_
> 
> **Te preocupas demasiado**   
>  _You worry too much_
> 
> **¿Cuanto tiempo para que le pongas un anillo al niño?**   
>  _How long until you put a ring on this boy?_
> 
> **¡Ay dios mio, que tonto!**   
>  _My god, so annoying!_
> 
> **Tú papi piensa que soy un idiota**   
>  _Your father thinks I'm an idiot_
> 
> **No quiere escuchar a nada de lo que tú Tio Hunk o Slav dijeron sobre interferir con los eventos! El piensa que soy un idiota que no se hubiera enterado de lo que hizo**   
>  _He doesn't want to listen to anything your Uncle Hunk or Slav said about with interfering with events! He thinks I'm an idiot who doesn't know what he did._
> 
> **Tú prometido nunca te amará como tú amas el piso**   
>  _Your fiancé will never love you as the floor can_
> 
> **Yeah, pero ya le dije a mis padres y deje que Krolia casi me acuchilara, así que me voy a casar con Keith.**   
>  _Yeah, but I already told my parents and let Krolia almost stab me so I'm gonna marry Keith_
> 
> **… solo dime que no quieres comer esas y te comprare otra cosa**   
>  _... just tell me you don't want to eat those and I'll buy you something else_
> 
>  
> 
> My tumblr is [emphasis-all-mine](https://emphasis-all-mine.tumblr.com/) if you wanna say hi


End file.
